Abnormology
by GratefulInsomniac
Summary: Cuddy and House develop a personal relationship when she decides to embrace acceptance and re-purpose the room that she was once planning to use as a nursery. Post episode 5x06. (5 chapter short story)
1. Unfriendly

_A/N-This is a short story (3-4 chapters). It was written to the prompt "Cuddy redecorates the nursery after the episode 'Joy.'" Although the prompt has definite angsty potential, this is a pretty light one. __Also, I'll warn those who were hoping for a baby/kid fic, this is not that kinda story. _

_I still don't own the characters.  
_

* * *

**-Unfriendly-**

House came back, a little tipsy, grudgingly worried and, as always, curious. When he rode by, her home looked mostly dark, but the hint of light that stopped her windows from being completely black called to his attention. Once inside, he saw boxes taped up near the door, ready to be sent away. He found her where he'd expected to, in the pleasantly yellow-painted nursery. She was standing barefoot on the edge of a ladder, one foot firmly planted and one more precariously steadied as her toes hung onto the edge of a rung. There was a partially empty bottle of champagne, freckled with condensation, sitting on the floor near the door.

She wasn't alarmed by the intruder, but he assumed it was because she knew it was him. Who else would trespass in her home at that hour, limping across the creaking floor to pry? She didn't ask how he'd found the key for the back door. She didn't look at him or yell at him; she just kept scraping a putty knife across the wall to remove some sticky substance that was probably the last remaining evidence of a baby-appropriate decoration. She'd changed since he'd left, wearing only a white tank top and running shorts while she worked. He didn't say a word, simply waiting and watching. She certainly wasn't wallowing. If anything, she looked content in her work.

"Maybe this time you've come to gloat?" she suggested, not bitterly. She peered over her shoulder when he didn't answer, and added, sort of unconcernedly, "Or you don't feel like talking, and you've just come to gawk?"

He shifted more of his weight onto his cane as he looked around the room, but he still didn't speak.

"This is getting kinda weird, House, but if you really feel the need to stand there and watch me redecorate, be my guest. It's not like I could stop you," she noted.

He explained, "Your light was on."

"I didn't realize you'd take that as an invitation."

"It's almost three. Your lights are usually off by now. It was unexpected."

She stated, still without any signs of anger, "You chose to come here earlier, you chose when to leave, you chose to come back. It doesn't seem to matter what I want. And you know what I'm going to do about that? I'm going to accept it. The fact that you're choosing to stand here and watch me scrape adhesive off the wall is more of a testament to the state of your life than it is—"

"You chose to open the door for me earlier," he interrupted. "You clearly didn't try to stop me from leaving. You get to choose what happens now. If you want me to go, just tell me to go."

She stopped working again, pausing to look directly at his face, and said, clearly, "I want you to go. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

She was almost disappointed when he left the room, but she could hear him moving around in her kitchen, and a few minutes later he returned with two beers that he'd obviously taken from her fridge. Keeping both beers for himself, he took off his jacket and tossed it aside, leaning back against the wall and sliding down until he was seated on the floor. Legs outstretched, he took one look at her disapproving glare and answered, "You quite recently suggested that I like to negate things. Doesn't it feel good to be right?"

She faintly smiled and shook her head, replying, "In that case, I want you to stay."

He leaned his head back against the wall, implicitly refusing to leave. Glancing up at her, he lifted his brow and asked, "Aren't you going to support my attempt to negate less?" She breathed a laugh, but continued her work.

Cuddy wiped the back of her hand against her forehead, pushing a few slightly damp strands of hair from her face before she grabbed the glass of champagne from the top of the ladder and finished it. "Is your beverage purposefully ironic?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Champagne is traditionally a drink of celebration. The cheery sound of popping corks, the bubbles, the fizzy feeling, you know…hardly the choice for someone recently devastated."

"Then it's not at all ironic. I _am_ celebrating."

"She changed her mind?" House asked, his mouth left slightly open with surprise.

"No. I changed my mind. I've been chasing this dream of normalcy, and I'm just…not normal."

"You had one bad day," he griped.

She paused and then answered, "If you had a patient who came into the clinic who told you she usually feels great, but every time she eats strawberries, she gets a horrible rash followed by nausea and vomiting. What would you tell her to do?"

"See an allergist."

"No. That's what most clinic doctors would say. What would _you_ say?"

"Stop eating strawberries," he admitted. "What's your point, Cuddy?"

"Every time I try to do this, I get hurt. Kids, family, that whole cluster of things in people's personal lives that seems to elude me. I need to accept my strengths and weaknesses. You are fine with being a bachelor. You've accepted that you just aren't in need of the typical family. Acceptance is a healthy thing. Maybe I should learn to enjoy what I have."

"You want the highlight of your day to be sitting at home in the evening, eating pizza and drinking whiskey in nothing but a pair of boxers?"

"Maybe not that exact scenario, but that's the general idea. Embrace the present. Appreciate what I have and respect who I am."

"I, for one, would really enjoy watching you drink whiskey wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, so feel free to stop by and join me, but that's not what you want."

"I do yoga every day, and yet I seem completely unable to find acceptance in the moment and simply be mindful of what _is._ That's part of it…'being present in the present.' My old instructor used to say that. It's hypocritical not to. I think I feel more at peace with my life tonight than I ever have. I think this is a turning point for me. Can you hand me that bottle?" she asked, pointing to the champagne.

He could have reached it, it was right next to him, and then handed it up to her without moving from his spot, but he saw an unsteadiness in her legs as she went back to work that was probably the result of too little food, complete exhaustion, and a touch of alcohol to top it off. "Ladders and additional alcohol are contraindicated," he explained.

She scowled, dryly replying, "Pretty please may I have my bottle."

"Probably time to quit working for tonight." She didn't listen, carefully filling a hole left behind in that section of wall. She wasn't really interested in taking his advice on the matter. He stood, grabbing the bottle and stepping closer. He waited behind her, holding out the champagne, but when she reached for it, he pulled it away, saying, "You can have it, but you're done playing Renovation Wonder Woman for the night."

"Let me finish this section."

"You want to be a bachelor? I'm your greatest resource, so let me advise. We don't repair walls in the middle of the night because we don't have women nagging us to do it. Time to get down."

She asked, with a knowing tone, "Are you _worried_ about me?"

"Never. This is another area of expertise. You're gonna get a concussion if you keep swinging around on there. They aren't fun."

She didn't come down, so he pinched the fabric at the back of her tank top and pulled down until she stepped off the ladder and onto the floor. He insisted, "We can explore thoughts on bachelorhood with both feet on the ground."

Without moving from the spot, she said, "I don't understand why you came back, but I know why you came here earlier."

"Enlighten me," he answered in a way that would have intimidated most people, but certainly didn't daunt her.

"Because today something happened in my life that wasn't about you. It was supposed to be about me and that baby. You weren't involved. And you couldn't stand that. You hate it when something in my life isn't about you. You mock every choice I've made that involves even the possibility of starting a family. You criticize my choice of cars and you actually followed me to an open house because the place was farther from the hospital. You want everything in my life to revolve around you."

She waited for a fight or denial. His face was crinkled while he thought, but he wasn't quick to answer. "There's a flaw in your theory."

"You don't really care about what I do with my life?" she guessed.

He shook his head, "Sometimes you _want_ me to be involved. You left a newspaper open on your desk with an ad circled when you went to that open house. You put mysterious things on your schedule when you have things you're trying to _hide_ from me…a schedule that you _know_ I will look at. And you made sure I knew about that adoption. You put just enough information out there so it looks like I'm an amazing detective who pries through your life, but you _want _me to know. You want me to show up. I'm sure you wish it wasn't true, and maybe you're not even doing it consciously, but these are the facts."

"Maybe I do. Sometimes I confuse whatever _this_ is with friendship."

They were stalled, paused at an impasse that seemed annoyingly persistent, so she turned back to the ladder and grabbed some paint samples, asking, "Which color do you think would be best in here? I'm making it a yoga-meditation room, so something calming."

He stared at her for a few extra seconds, turning his head toward the samples before allowing his eyes to follow. He grabbed her wrist, lifting it closer to his eye level so he could see the colors fanned out in her hand, and he pulled one from the bunch and turned it around so she could see it. She examined his choice for a moment before she put it back in the pile with the others, selecting a different color entirely. "I'm going with this one," she stated. "I guess negating must be contagious."

"Why didn't anyone else come here tonight? Why didn't anyone come to the hospital to congratulate you when you thought you were getting a kid?" he asked.

"Like who?"

"Friends, family? Where are they?"

"What's your point?"

"I'm not making a point, I'm asking a question. You didn't call anyone? Your parents didn't want to come see the kid they could potentially spoil? And then after you found out you weren't getting her, you were alone, miserable…no one offered to come here and commiserate? And now you're _celebrating_ this turning point in your life and your newfound acceptance, and still you're alone."

"But I'm not alone," she answered.

"Which clearly doesn't disprove my earlier point. You want _me_ to be involved."

She broke their stare, shrugging disinterestedly. "I'm doing fine."

"Completely redecorating the room to destroy the evidence that you almost had your own squirming blanketful of need is evidence that you're doing fine?" he asked doubtfully.

"Yup," she decisively answered.

She left the room, flicking off the light even though he was still standing there. When he followed a few seconds later, she was already sitting in her living room, watching TV. He stood in the opening to the living room while he flipped coins in his mind to decide if he should stay or go. Literally one foot was in her living room and one was in the foyer. Staying could be dangerous or fun or enlightening. Leaving would be safe and lonely. Both options carried the distinct possibility of second-guessing the path chosen. Ultimately he turned toward the door without a word, deciding that he better make it home before exhaustion won. He unlocked the door and began to open it when something pushed it shut again. He saw Cuddy's hand on the door and his eyes followed her hand up her arm as he turned toward her. "I thought I should head home," he stated.

"You've been drinking. And if you wreck your bike, I'll feel like shit."

"It's not your responsibility."

"But I'll feel like shit anyway. Stay here tonight."

He turned, the two of them again almost intolerably close. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that you sleep it off on my sofa. I'm asking you to do that. For me." He seemed to already be mentally walking out the door, so she played a higher card. "I don't feel like losing you today, too."

She wasn't asking or pleading, she was demanding, and for some reason he preferred that. He reengaged the lock on the door to show his agreement and offered a quick shrug of acceptance. He sat on one end of the sofa and she yanked a blanket off the back of her chair and tossed it at him. Throwing his jacket back on the floor and kicking off his sneakers, he glanced over at her and asked, "You're also sleeping it off on your sofa? Might get crowded."

"I'm watching the rest of this show, and then I'm going to my room. Think you can handle the _crowd_ until then?"

He ignored the question, pressing his back into a comfy spot in the cushions and lifting his feet onto the ottoman. Cuddy wasn't even able to stay awake until the next commercial. She was softly snoring, curled up on the sofa, her feet tucked under her. House thought about getting up and going, actually turning to look in the direction of the door, but he was just as tired and the thought of putting his shoes back on and riding home was tedious at best. He reached behind his head and found a light switch on the wall, darkening the room except for the flickering television.

He closed his eyes to allow sleep to come, but his thigh muscle was wringing the relaxation from his body with each angry thump. It had only been two hours since his last Vicodin which, like all of his Vicodins as of late, was taken too soon after the previous one. There seemed to be no choice though, so he sat up and used his cane to hook his jacket and bring it closer. Sitting back after he grabbed his bottle, he started to open it when he saw Cuddy shift a little. For some reason he didn't want her to see him take one, probably because he wanted to avoid what he guessed was an inevitable conversation about his intake as of late.

She settled again, and he opened the bottle as quietly as he could and swallowed the pill. Keeping the bottle in his hand so he wouldn't have to find it again when he woke in two or three more hours, he tried to sleep. A sudden slap on his arm made him lift his head, and he saw Cuddy's hand slung over his wrist. Her hand was palm up, so she wasn't really holding onto him, her hand was merely prevented from falling onto the sofa because his arm was in the way.

Staring at it didn't do him any good because she wasn't awake to know the contact was unwelcome. His instincts to pull away kicked in, but just before he actually extricated himself from her, he changed his mind. His head rested again against the back of the sofa, but his eyes remained open as he fixated on that touch. It was as accidental and unconscious as possible, and it wasn't even remotely sexual, but the touch was intimate. Her hand on his arm became the momentary focus of his entire mind. Every other possible thought was supplanted by his need to think about something that to most people would be completely inconsequential.

He wondered why touching her had to be so problematic. He wondered why he didn't dislike it more. He wondered if her claim that she had hit a turning point was evidence that the person who had always seemed to have everything under control was finally snapping. He wondered if the entire night would be lost to this spiral of thought, and then he fell asleep.

* * *

House sort of wanted her to come to him to discuss bachelorhood. He watched her as much as possible while still keeping his distance because he was truly suspicious that she had hit a breaking point. She seemed good though. She wasn't any different at work. She showed up a couple of times after work to have a drink or two with him and Wilson, but she never stayed long or said much.

He even showed up at her place occasionally. One day she came home and found him sitting on the floor of the former nursery, evening the edges with a tiny paint brush. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I needed something to do that didn't involve thinking so I could finally think," he answered while he kept working.

She didn't respond, but changed her clothes and returned to continue her work on the room. He sat there for hours, exchanging only a few necessary words before he stood, leaving his painting supplies on the floor and returning to the hospital.

The following Saturday he showed up on her doorstep shortly after he woke up. He'd seen an appointment on her calendar that simply said "Austin" for ten that morning. House managed to make it to her place at a few minutes after ten. Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door opened and he was face to face with a man he could only assume was Austin. The man didn't stay, nodding politely at House before continuing to his scooter. House watched disapprovingly while Austin strapped a bag onto the vehicle and carefully placed a shiny silver helmet over his thick blond hair before he took off. House watched the scooter disappear down the street as he heard Cuddy ask, "You coming in?"

House turned, tapping the bottom of his cane against his leg and asking, "Who's that? And why was he here _before_ his appointment?"

She waved House inside, no longer surprised by either his presence or his knowledge of her life. "Oh, come on, your deductive skills are better than that."

"A personal trainer?"

"Yoga instructor."

"And he came an hour earlier than you had on your calendar? Just to mess me up? I'm flattered. Are you having sex with him?"

"What?" she scoffed.

"Oh, come on," he mimicked her earlier words, "your language comprehension skills are better than that."

"I understand the question, I'm just not sure why you think you can ask it."

"I'm not sure why you think I'd suddenly limit myself to questions I _can _ask. I'm just a friend looking out for another friend."

"You'd ask Wilson the same question?"

"Oh, I can guarantee if I saw that guy leaving Wilson's apartment, I'd definitely be asking some questions."

"I'd consider it," she admitted.

"You did see that he wears a mirrored helmet and rides a pale green scooter, right?"

"He's secure. Nothing wrong with that. I'm only saying that he's a potential option. I'm not interested in a relationship with him, so he's safe. He's somewhat attractive. There's an appointment book at his office that links him to me, so if he is a serial killer and he decides to bound and torture me until my untimely death, at least the police will be able to investigate and figure out who was at my home before it happened. Wiser than picking up a guy at a bar."

House stared, wide eyed, concerned and slightly taken aback. "Seriously?"

"I thought you'd appreciate the practicality."

"There are other practical options. If you're going to have a meaningless hookup, you could do better."

Cuddy asked confrontationally, "Have any suggestions?" She stepped closer, waiting right before him as she laid the challenge.

He pondered it, sensing the trap there before him. His indecision morphed into a blank expression, and then in one sudden movement he leaned down to her like he was going to kiss her. She backed up just a little, but her retreat was obvious, and so was his victory. She'd retreated more out of surprise than disinterest, but it was too late. She came back to her original spot, not advancing their closeness at all, but making a firm decision not to back away again. He came closer, so close that the tips of his stubble scratched her cheek but she never really felt his skin against hers. He moved his lips to her ear and whispered, "Called it." He pulled back, standing tall, watching her face as it flushed. "I'm not the only one who's all talk."

He sidestepped her and walked down the hall, leaving her momentarily alone in her spot. "Finishing up in here soon?" he called out from inside the redecorated room.

She turned in his direction, shaking her head as she tried to decode what had just happened. "I hope so," she replied as she began to walk toward his voice.

* * *

Nearly a week later he was snooping in her office. He had an excuse to be there, as he often did. He'd taken a photo of the new, higher coffee prices in the cafeteria, and also pictures of the new brand of coffee they were selling that he hated. At that point nearly everything annoyed him because his leg had kept him up for the last two nights, and the coffee felt like one more irritation in a long line of irritations.

While he sat at her desk reading email, his eyes saw a familiar blond standing outside of Cuddy's office. Looking more carefully to verify the visitor's identity, he felt a sense of anger that neared revulsion as he grabbed his cane, slapped down the lid to Cuddy's computer and charged toward the door. The young woman was talking to Cuddy's secretary and turned nervously when she heard the door swing open.

"What are you doing here?" House asked, hostilely.

"I'm here to see Lisa. I'm Becca," the girl sheepishly said.

"I know who you are. You're the one who gave a baby to Cuddy and then took it back _after _she made sure you and your kid lived. Convenient timing, wasn't it?"

"That's not what happened," she said, her voice growing whinier as she shied away from the confrontation.

"Why are you here?" he persisted.

"I wanted to thank her—" she began.

"The best way to show your _thanks_ is to go away," he interrupted.

"And I thought maybe she'd like to see how the baby's doing. She's getting big," Becca said, lifting an infant seat to show him.

"Yes. That's absolutely fascinating," he sarcastically jabbed.

"I wanted to say thanks for all of the clothes and things she sent. That was nice. And…"

"_And_?"

"She told me she could take care of any bills from the hospital."

He scoffed, "So you wanted to come so Cuddy could pay your bill. You should have just said that." He held out his hand and impatiently waved for her to give it to him. When she didn't respond immediately, he ordered, loudly, "Give it to me."

She dug in her diaper bag and produced the envelope. He tugged it out of her hand, opening the folded paper and reading the bill. Cuddy's secretary took advantage of the break in conversation to say, "Dr. Cuddy will be back in a few minutes, if you'd like to take a seat."

"Seventy-eight dollars and fourteen cents?" he asked. "This is the only bill you've gotten?"

"I think so."

"Do you have any idea what your whole bill actually was?"

"I don't know."

"Of course you don't," he sneered. "Well, come on."

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to pay your bill." He turned to the secretary and threatened, "Don't tell Cuddy she was here."

He started limping quickly down the hall as Becca gathered her things and hurriedly followed. House didn't really wait for her to catch up while he went to the billing department. Standing at the window, he reached through and tapped the clerk on the shoulder. She was instantly flustered when she saw who it was. "Please don't reach in here, Dr. House," she corrected.

"This is urgent," he explained. "We have a gigantic medical bill here that must be taken care of." He shoved a credit card in the woman's face, watching her back away before she took it from him.

"Do you need a receipt?" the clerk asked while House reached back through to take the receipt and his card.

He turned to Becca and ordered, "Stay away from Cuddy. She doesn't need you dangling that kid in front of her face. She did you a favor because your actual medical bill would have bankrupted you."

Becca replied, "I know, she's very nice—"

"Nice? Cuddy is _nice_?" House blurted into the air, and then looked right into Becca's eyes. "The first big decision you made for that baby was the worst mistake of her life. Think about that while she's growing up. That kid would have had everything…good schools, a nice home and a mother who isn't a spineless coward. Congratulations, _Mom_. I guess it's probably a relief…knowing that you've already committed the biggest screwup of her life before she was a week old. Got that out of the way."

"Dr. House," the clerk admonished, "that's no way to talk to a patient."

A nurse came in from the side, scowling at House as she sweetly escorted Becca away.

"You're going to get fired one of these days," the clerk said, shutting the privacy window. She watched him while she picked up her phone, likely to make a call to Cuddy.

There was little he could do for damage control, and he guessed Cuddy was not going to be pleased with how he'd handled the situation, so he went and met his team in a large supply room in the basement to discuss their case. Within an hour she had found him there. From the stress lines on her face, he knew someone had gone to her. He hoped it wasn't Becca. He wasn't in the mood for talking about it with her though. "I need to speak to you," she said authoritatively to House.

"You want me to help choose a color for your next redecorating project since your meditation room is almost done?" he snidely answered.

House's whole team was interested in this conversation. Only Wilson really knew the two of them were meeting outside of work. Cuddy guessed immediately that House was doing this to silence her, figuring that she'd avoid any personal disclosures in front of employees. Instead she volleyed back, "What do you want to drink tonight? We should celebrate finishing one project before starting the next one."

House flicked the corner of a scan while he tried to figure out why Cuddy was just as willingly outing their weird friendship. "Balvenie. Aged at least seventeen years," he answered.

"Okay. Now we need to talk about Becca," she told House before turning to his team. "I'm assuming you all have something better to do?"

Thirteen and Taub both looked at House to see what he wanted them to do, both curious about what House had done to make Cuddy so upset. He signaled for them to go, but Kutner stayed, hoping to stay to witness the interaction. "Dr. Kutner?" Cuddy called.

"Yes?" Kutner asked, innocently.

"Apparently I've been too subtle. It's time to leave."

Kutner got up, disappointedly vacating his spot.

"So which one ratted me out?" House asked as he leaned against a shelf full of boxes of gloves.

"Which _one_? Try five. Five people in the last hour have contacted me about your behavior this morning. You were too hard on her," Cuddy answered.

"She's a pathetic excuse for a mother."

"You don't know that."

"Accepting handouts from the woman she stole a baby from is pretty fucking pathetic," he grumbled.

"She was scared, young, traumatized. So many hormones and emotions, the fear of death and failure and loss. She went through a lot," Cuddy sympathetically replied.

"And those hormones and emotions mean that you're responsible for her medical bills?"

"That was my decision to make."

"Because she needed the money to take care of the kid?"

Cuddy shrugged. "I convinced her to be treated here, and I had enough to pay the negotiated balance. I didn't want to think about it anymore. But it's over now. I saw Becca before she left and I saw her daughter. I didn't feel any connection to that baby. I told you, I am very content with my decision to embrace acceptance."

"You mean your commitment to abnormality?"

"I guess. How much do I owe you? She said you paid her bill."

"The scotch will cover it."

"Come over tonight to pick it up?"

"If I feel like it," he answered dismissively.

* * *

He was ridiculously late, even though they hadn't set a specific time. His case kept him at the hospital longer than he'd expected, but he was avoiding Cuddy. When he rode past her place near eleven that night, he decided to keep going and stop at his apartment. He made excuses in his head about why he needed to stay home: his leg hurt, he was tired, and he was irritated by her. Although all of his excuses were true, they weren't the real reason he was avoiding her.

She texted him once around midnight saying only: _Do you have any idea how hard it is to find 17 y.o. Balvenie?_

Without taking the time to think through his decision, he went back out to his bike and rode to her place. The lights were still on even though it was nearly one in the morning. She was sitting on the floor in her living room. Something chipper was coming from her stereo, and Cuddy's hands were drumming to the beat of the song. She smiled a silly, slow, drunken smile when she saw him. "Hey there, Dr. House," she welcomed. "Your wild-goose-chase single malt scotch is over here." Her hand reached around on the floor until she found a bottle wrapped in a paper bag. "You gonna come get it?"

He took a few steps into the room, sitting down on the sofa on a cushion near her and said, "Is drunkenness part of the whole yoga thing?"

"It is tonight," she grinned.

House looked around, "What would Austin the wonder-yogi think about the fact that you're shitfaced?"

"I really don't care." She shook her head, placing her arm flat on the cushion next to him and leaning her face on her arm. "You'd be so jealous if I had something going on with him."

"That would not be jealousy. That would be pity. "

"Do you like me? You do, don't you? Just a little?"

"If I did anything to give you that impression, I take it back."

"Why do you have to do this?" she groaned.

He reached over for his bottle, surprised that she had managed to get a hold of what he'd asked for so quickly. He opened it and took a swig. It was too nice a beverage to gulp from the bottle, but in that moment, he didn't care. "Do what?" he asked as the drink delightfully warmed its way down his throat.

"Act like you don't like me," she said, her irritation sobering her a little. "I'm not talking romance and everlasting love. I'm just talking about regular, human-to-human _like_ that can occur with people who share common ground and just a little mutual admiration. You defended me. You told her that taking that baby away from me was the worst mistake she could make for her daughter. Three people heard you say that…besides Becca. You tried to keep her away so I didn't have to deal with her. So you did all of that stuff, but you don't even like me? Is that what you want me to believe?"

"Maybe I just wanted to tell her she's an idiot."

Cuddy sighed, resigned to the fact that this sort of conversation would never really be honest and direct between them. "Thank you for trying to protect me from getting hurt. You really are a good…," she stopped, apparently having an internal conversation that she wasn't going to share.

"I'm a good…?"

"Well, you aren't a _friend_."

"It's easy to see why you think I should like you," he mockingly countered.

"I didn't mean it like that. 'Friend' is just so…everyone says it. It's so casual. People use 'friend,' 'coworker' and 'acquaintance' interchangeably now. The word doesn't really _mean_ anything. We're more than _friends,_ aren't we? I'm not saying we're a couple or anything, neither of us want a relationship anyway, but to call us 'friends' seems like an understatement, doesn't it?"

"Oh god…you already bought the white dress," he teased.

"It's not like that," she groaned, sighing as she stood and tried to move gracefully to the edge of the sofa.

He stared down and ahead as he thought, rubbing his thigh with one hand and holding the bottle with the other.

Feeling like she needed to say something else before dropping the subject, she added, "You don't have to say anything because I know you like me, no matter what you say. I still appreciate that you defended me today. It was inappropriate, I hope you never, ever behave that way with a patient or former patient again. But on a personal level, I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good. So we aren't friends and we aren't dating, but whatever we are…I'm glad I have you."

She left the room, and he sat there for a while, thinking and swigging his scotch. He figured she went to bed when she'd tired of their conversation, but she returned with a bag of partially crushed pretzel sticks, a bar of expensive chocolate and a hefty plastic bottle of water. Sitting back on the sofa, she snacked on a few pretzel pieces before she held the bag out for him. He shook his head and took another sip of his drink. The room was so silent that he could hear her crunching on the pretzels as her unguarded words awkwardly remained unanswered. He wasn't sure if she sensed how uncomfortable the whole situation was making him, but mercifully she changed the subject. "Come see the room. It's pretty much finished," she said, bumping his arm with the back of an open hand.

She truly had transformed it. It had taken longer than it should have because of her work schedule and the demands of life. Although he'd been there often as the room had changed, he'd watched more than helped. A few times he'd done little things when he needed something to keep his hands busy, but mostly he sat or paced or rambled while she'd worked. The room was pale blue, and tranquilly decorated. A big fountain was in the corner, still in the box, so she could meditate to the sound of babbling water. The transformation of this room _meant _something to her.

"I think I need a room for relaxation, too. Wanna help me next?" he asked.

"You can use mine, if you want."

"I'm thinking something more suited to my lifestyle. Like an opium den. I'll get some blankets and you bring the opium."

She smiled, laughing tiredly. "Maybe the guys who delivered the fountain know where I can get some." The tension dropped a little, his face relaxing in his own version of a smile, and then she said with a hint of flirtation, "We really do deserve to relax. We both agree…we aren't _normal. _So what if our relationship, for lack of a better term, doesn't fall into a tidy little category, we should appreciate it for what it is. Have some…fun."

"Fun?"

"Yea. Fun. This weekend, We could go to the Crowne Plaza. You and me. My treat. You have my word that I won't tell a soul. Let's enjoy this _friendship_…we can be abnormal together, celebrate our freedom."

"Me?"

"Why not?"

"At a hotel?" he questioned.

She leaned closer, her eyes happy and playful, and she seductively whispered words that he knew he'd play in his mind over and over, "I'm tired of doing what I _have _to do. I'm tired of being good… Come be bad with me."

He didn't answer, considering her suggestion. It was obvious that she was really drunk. He knew that. And he knew he'd probably had a little too much as well. His brain was warning him to retreat, but there was that part of him that simply didn't _want_ to turn her down.

She started to hesitate when he didn't respond, so she backtracked and said, "I put you on the spot. Look, I'll make it really easy for you. Take tonight and think about it. Send me a text tomorrow, a simple 'yes' or 'no.' No questions asked, no explanations. I'm completely exhausted, so I'm going to bed. Feel free to crash on the sofa if you want. I should get a pull-out sofa or a futon or something for the nights you stop over," she said with a warm smile. "Well, I'm beat. Good night."

He remained there for a few minutes, wondering exactly how drunk Cuddy had been to proposition him like that.

* * *

When Cuddy woke up the next morning, she remembered their conversation. She immediately felt a little concerned. It wasn't the end of the world if House didn't want to go along to the Plaza with her, but she wasn't sure if he was going to pull away if he felt they were getting too close. As much as she didn't enjoy the possibility of being rejected, she was more concerned with the prospect of losing the personal ground that they'd gained. He didn't answer her all day. As she was packing up her things to go home that evening, she felt her phone vibrate. She smiled as she read a simple message from him: _Why not_

She texted back: _Tomorrow at four. I'll text you the room # when I check in._

Her door swung open two minutes later, and he poked his head into her office. He announced, "Finally you've set up a meeting worth adding to the PPTH meeting scheduler."

"Do _not_ put that in the scheduler," she said calmly and professionally while she slipped her arm into her coat.

"Geez, I hope I can remember if it's not on the official calendar."

She stalled momentarily when she saw House's smile. Not a grin or smirk, but a few seconds where he _actually _smiled, and he almost seemed shy about it. Offering a smile in return, she replied, "Hopefully."

* * *

He woke up at seven the next morning. He was keenly aware that having sex with Cuddy was a risky choice. But, like riding his bike at 90 mph down a freeway, or mixing booze and Vicodin, he was going to do it anyway. Some things were worth the risks that had to be accepted. One nagging thought kept threatening to emerge. Motorcycle accidents, liver failure and overdose were all risks of a distinctly physical nature. Cuddy was an entirely different variety of risk. As much as he tried to justify what he'd agreed to, he knew it was probably a huge mistake. They'd grown a little closer over the past few weeks, and the closer they grew, the stronger the pull between them seemed.

Even as he accepted that he was about to take a huge risk, there was one little thing that bugged him that he simply couldn't ignore: Cuddy's choice to meet him at a hotel.

Initially he didn't think much of it, but as time passed, he started to wonder why she'd decided that was necessary. They'd been spending time in each other's homes, and they both seemed relatively comfortable with that. He finally decided that she must have wanted a hotel as a way to keep things a little less personal. Then he remembered that she'd suggested buying a futon so he'd have a more comfortable spot to sleep when he was at her place. Was she really going to have sex with him at a hotel, but insist that he sleep on a fucking futon if he happened to stay at her place? It seemed clear, she was trying to create rules that would allow sex between them to be more controllable.

He had no problem with impersonal sex, but he knew enough to know that he couldn't have completely impersonal sex with someone he already knew so personally. In truth, they could have pretended to be solely professional associates for much of their working years together, but the last few weeks had proven otherwise. If Cuddy thought they could confine their sexual interactions and the ensuing ramifications within the walls of the Crowne Plaza, he was certain it was better to correct that bad assumption before she discovered the truth after the fact.

He argued, silently, that he was going to point out her error to prevent problems and expose the truth, and not because he didn't want his existence as a man in her life to be limited to a certain time and detached place carefully isolated from the rest of her existence. He flinched at the possible motivation he was trying to ignore, and then scowled at the flinch.

As he finished his second cup of coffee, another thought popped into his head: Why had she chosen that specific hotel? There were tons of hotels in the area. She actually named the hotel immediately, as if she'd planned before talking to him and already had the details worked out. This didn't fit his impression that she'd taken a chance on a drunken whim. The circumstances seemed stranger the more he tried to figure out what was going on, so he called the Plaza. He told them he was Cuddy's assistant and was confirming the reservation.

A clerk, too happily, confirmed, "Yes, of course. We have Dr. Cuddy and one guest in our two-room suite, arriving this afternoon for our _Women's Spa Weekend._"

House's frown deepened as he asked, "I think that's a mistake. Her guest is male."

"Well," the receptionist jauntily answered, "friends come in all shapes, sizes and genders these days. She must have made special arrangements. I'm sure he'll have a wonderful time."

House hung up, tossing his phone on the coffee table while he considered his mistake. He was pissed that he'd misunderstood her offer, but even more pissed that he'd actually accepted it. They'd become more friendly, definitely closer, but had they actually moved beyond their sexual tension and attraction and simply become buddies? How in the hell had she started to see _him_ like _that_? He recalled her discussion of their undefinable relationship, and the conversation that he had eagerly ignored was suddenly the one conversation he needed to have. He wasn't just one of the girls that she could take along on a spa weekend! He considered himself nearly unoffendable, but Cuddy had actually offended him. It was time to set the record straight.

There was no way in hell he was going to set foot in that hotel.


	2. Breathe

_A/N-Thanks all for the favorites and follows, and to the reviewers: IWuvHouse, freeasabird14, OldSFfan, Addie, JLCH, A. Heiden, KiwiClare, jaybe61, lenasti16, CaptainK8, Woods, Huddy Fan, Suzieqlondon, ikissedtheLaurie, azes, Abby, Bere, grouchysnarky, jayfukae, byte size, Vast Difference, RochelleRene and the Guests._

* * *

**-Breathe-**

The moment Cuddy's door opened, he accused, "I'm not one of your girl friends."

"Okay?" she questioned.

"Was that supposed to be funny, or are you just that confused about the nature of this…_this_?" he asked while he stepped into her foyer. As she was closing the door, he circled behind her and came closer, keeping her between him and the entrance.

"What _this_?" she asked, agitated that he was being so loud, abrupt and pushy when she had been so relaxed a few seconds earlier. She reached up, put her fingertips against the center of his chest and pressed against him until he took a step back. "It's too early in the morning for a personal space invasion," she warned before she continued. Once she had a little more room, she planted one hand on her hip and started rubbing her forehead with the other, asking, "Can't we have just one normal conversation?"

"Not today. I'm not going to that hotel."

"All you had to do was call or text to tell me that. Even when I try to make things easy for you, you complicate them. This is not a problem worth calling in the troops for."

"You tried to lead me there under false pretenses."

"I did?"

"Yes. And I'm not going."

"Let's take care of this right now then," she said with frustration. She left the room determinedly, returning mid-phone call. As soon as she ended the call, she asked House, "There. Reservation canceled. Are we happy?"

"No, we're not _happy_. I need to make sure you understand a few things."

"This'll be rich," she said, folding her arms. "I'm listening."

"I'm not like him," House said, pointing back at Cuddy's new room when he saw Austin prepping for her typical Saturday morning yoga session.

She whispered, "And I didn't invite _him _to spend the weekend with me."

"I'm not one of your gal pals. I'm not _safe_. I will never be a safe option for you."

"What makes you think that I've ever seen you as safe? You're the opposite of safe. The risk that lingers under the surface is probably part of why you're so…addictive."

Refusing to let his surprise at her answer deter him, he added, "I called the Plaza…"

"And?"

"He'd be a better choice for your women's weekend," House said, nodding toward the door where Austin was peering out at them.

She nodded slowly as she suddenly realized what he was so upset about. "Oh, the Spa thing? That's why you're upset?"

"You probably should have mentioned the nature of the trip."

"Because you assumed that you and I were going there for…," she gestured between the two of them, "_other_ reasons?"

"Don't play innocent, Cuddy. You guided me right to that assumption."

"Still…you agreed to go under those circumstances."

"Don't turn this around. You wanted to symbolically geld me."

She rolled her eyes at the suggestion. "You're being ridiculous." Shaking her head, she suggested, "You never stopped to consider that maybe I was going to that hotel for the same reasons as you."

"You're screwing with me. You already knew which hotel you were going to…there are plenty of other hotels in the area, but you listed that specific one. The only reason you'd have a specific one in mind is if you wanted to go there for an event that was being held at that location."

"_Or_ I have an account there, and I don't have an account at any other local hotels."

"Why would you need an account at a hotel so close to where you live?" he said, certain that he'd dealt the winning blow.

"It's a great place to put up family, colleagues and friends when they visit if I'm not inviting them to stay in my home. Also, once or twice I may have led you to believe that I was attending a conference when, in reality, I was spending two days at the Plaza. If you think I might make you present at a conference, you always disappear. It's the best way for me to make sure I'll have peace and quiet." His face was alarmingly blank as he couldn't seem to find any real fault in her reasoning. Looking down at the clock on her phone, she said, "I have my yoga class now."

"He can wait."

"I wanted to talk about this you-and-me thing the other night, and you chose not to say a word. You sat with your drink and silence, and now _you_ decide _you_ want to talk about it, and I'm supposed to drop everything?"

"You said you're embracing acceptance. Accept that I'm ready to talk now."

"Acceptance doesn't mean being a doormat. I'm going to take my class. If you want to have this conversation, I'll be happy to have it after Austin leaves and we can talk in private."

"You want me to stand here and wait?"

"If you really want to stand here by the door, that's up to you. But there's coffee in the kitchen and I think I still have _chairs_ out there if you want to sit down. Or you can come back in an hour. Or…you can decide that the answers to your questions aren't worth waiting an hour for. It's up to you." She took a few steps away and turned back for just a moment, adding, "Did you know that one of the perks for rewards club members at the Plaza is automatic access to certain events that are held at the hotel whenever you book a room? So a person wouldn't even need to specifically register for those special events to be included."

She continued down the hall to her class as he stood in her entryway, pondering the last few minutes. Glancing in her living room, he saw an overnight bag in front of the sofa, already packed and waiting. The fact that the bag was ready to go hours before it was time to leave made him wonder if she had been looking forward to their time together.

* * *

He waited _almost _the full hour before he decided he couldn't wait any longer. Leaving his cane propped in the corner of the room near the door, he kicked off his sneakers and walked in while Cuddy and Austin were finishing. She was on the mat near the center of the room, breathing with deep, even breaths that were so peaceful that House almost felt a calmness himself just from watching her. Austin moved around her, softly touching a few places along her body for some reason that House didn't fully understand.

She was completely relaxed around her instructor. As much as part of House wanted to be able to be so much closer to her, he never wanted his presence to be something so meaningless or ordinary. Closeness between the two of them had always been relevant. His own words echoed in his head as he remembered that he didn't want her to think he was a safe choice. They weren't safe together. They were tense, exciting, enticing…never safe.

Austin gestured for House to join them, breaking House's depth of thought and bringing him back to the moment. Cautiously, House moved closer, sitting on the floor next to the spot where Cuddy was meditating. The younger man seemed hopeful that House was in search of the peace he could find through meditation. Austin squatted down to eye-level and put his hand firmly on House's shoulder to try to put him at ease, but it had the opposite effect. Completely unthwarted by House's glare at the offending hand or his rigid, displeased body language, Austin kept his spot on House's shoulder and patiently waited for relaxation to come. "Try to take a few full breaths to put yourself at ease," Austin said quietly so as to not disturb Cuddy.

Eyes still closed, Cuddy actually reached up and grabbed Austin's wrist, gently removing his hand from House's shoulder. When House looked at her, he saw her shaking her head at Austin. House wondered if she had been peeking, or if she just sensed his discomfort, but he was amused that she knew him well enough to react as she did.

"Thanks. It was a great session," Cuddy said to her instructor, still with her eyes closed.

Austin reached over, touching Cuddy's forearm as he said goodbye. House wondered why in the hell this guy had to touch _everything._ They exchanged a few words, the exact conversation completely irrelevant to House as he again observed, without any hint of envy, the way Cuddy reacted so indifferently to the younger man. Austin stood and left, and House and Cuddy were there alone.

"So which was it, Cuddy?" House asked as he heard the front door close. "You wanted to go the Plaza for a manicure or sex?"

She sat up, placing her feet on the ground and loosely hugging her knees. "Do you really think I'd want to take you along for a manicure? Do you actually believe that I think you'd have fun doing that?"

"I don't know."

"I know you better than that. If I wanted to attend the spa weekend, I would have gone alone."

"So it was about sex," he nodded, relieved to learn the truth of her intentions, and simultaneously completely disappointed that his diagnosis of the situation had failed so miserably.

"I didn't really have a plan. I thought you and I could go hang out together. If one thing led to another…great. If it didn't, no big deal."

"Is this a beneficial friendship sort of thing?"

She lulled her head back, gazing generally toward the ceiling, and sighed. "We've talked about how we're different. Just because we're different doesn't mean we shouldn't get to enjoy some of the things normal people enjoy. I was open to the possibility."

His finger pressed against the slightly tacky texture of the yoga mat beneath him as he thought about her suggestion. He finally answered, "You know what this is…"

"I'm not trying to lull you into a relationship."

"And I wasn't suggesting that. This is about trying to fill a void."

She closed her eyes, the calm leaving her voice as she responded, "Not everything is about that baby, House. My life is about more than that_. I_ am about more than that."

"I wasn't saying that either," he answered, sounding much more relaxed than she did. "But I think what happened got to you. It hurt like hell. And you can't just wave a magic yoga stick and decide it didn't hurt like hell. That's not how it works."

With a quick and somber chuckle, she responded, "Everyone I know is trying to fill a void. We're all hurt or disappointed or angry. We've all experienced loss or been deprived or deceived or wounded. No one I know is unscathed. As much as I've embraced my own abnormalcy, that's one way I'm completely ordinary. We're all fucked up. And we all want to find a way to feel better. But that's not what this is about."

"Then what is?"

"If our _friendship_ had a physical aspect to it, I think that would be nice. I don't expect you to attend graduations or award ceremonies, remember anniversaries, do dishes, or tell me I look pretty. I don't need those things. We could just be as we are…and add that aspect. It seemed…worth exploring. We're both single, responsible. I like being around you. I'm attracted to you. And you're right, you aren't safe. But I like that. I think we'd have fun. I wasn't planning anything, I was simply open to whatever might happen."

"I guess I should thank your scooter-loving yoga instructor for this newfound openness to the possibility of things happening." House stated, lightly.

"Do you want to know why I started private classes?" He didn't answer, but looked at her with focus and interest, so she continued. "I'm good at yoga. I'm good at the positions, at form, technique and mechanics. I liked the workout, the flexibility, all of those physical benefits. The week before I started redecorating, I was at my class and the instructor pulled me aside. She told me she was concerned about my practice because I was skipping out on the Savasana at the end. That's the relaxation and meditation that you usually close with. She said that I was only enjoying half of what the class had to offer. And it's true, I was. I'd finish the workout and immediately I was thinking about whatever was next. Even when I stayed and finished the class, I was already mentally checked out when I was supposed to be letting my mind be clear. Honestly, I found it really, really hard to lie down and do nothing. That night after everything happened with Becca and after you left, the conversation with the instructor came back to me and I decided I really needed to do this. I needed to find acceptance, clear my mind, focus."

"So you had that instructor killed?" he said, amused.

"I went back to see her again, and she suggested Austin. I needed someone to help me find ways to get to that state. He's really good at influencing and directing without interfering. That's why he was touching you, he was bringing your focus to a specific point that he wanted you to relax. That's what he does. He'll bring my attention to a tense spot on my body or help me move into better alignment."

"There are plenty of better ways to relax."

"It helps," she answered. As he scoffed, she countered, "I can show you."

"I'm not a yoga kinda guy."

"Studies show that people who regularly engage in restorative yoga actually have better cognitive functioning, brain connectivity and logical problem solving abilities. It's all tied into resting state brain functions, and if you think about it, you already do that. You bounce your ball, or sit in the corner and paint the edges of this room…you clear your brain so you can think. Now if you could truly clear your mind once in a while, maybe you could reach that state more quickly and easily."

"Is Austin going to return to feel me up?" he asked with a smirk.

"I'm sure he'd love the chance, but he had other classes. I can show you. I'm not an expert, but you'll get the general idea." He sneered, but she argued, "Just try it. It might help me to see things from the other perspective."

"I don't think I'm ready to stand on my head and chant."

"You lie on your back," she said, standing and stretching.

He was curious enough to allow it. She'd made a good point about clearing the mind, but mostly he thought it would be amusing and give him some more insight into her world. After she was done stretching, she said to him, "Now try to relax. Take a few full breaths and release your body into the floor."

She gave a few simple, practical instructions as they went along. The first time he felt her touch him, it was so subtle that it could have almost gone unnoticed. It was just the slightest brush of her fingers at the top of his shoulder and a quick word to remind him to ease the tension there and slightly shift his alignment. She moved with whisper-quiet steps to his legs, explaining how to roll them slightly outward so his body could be more comfortable.

When most of his body was aligned the way she'd wanted it, she lifted his wrist and moved it out to the side, creating space between his body and outstretched arm. She sat next to him, kneeling on the floor with her feet under her in that space she'd created. As she turned the arm that she'd moved so his palm was facing up, he could feel her leg against his hip and the spot where her foot grazed him. While she let go of his hand after it was positioned properly, her thumb brushed over the center of his palm.

She leaned across his torso, the warmth and closeness of her amplified by its unfamiliarity and the heightened awareness that came from being so focused on that moment. She directed him to be mindful of his body and his breath, and in being mindful of those things, he was all the more aware of the ways she was making him feel differently. Moving his other hand into place, she let go with the same almost affectionate brush of her thumb against his palm, and while she was still leaning over him, he opened his eyes.

Immediately she noticed him looking at her, and she examined his face for signs of discomfort, but found the emotionless gaze of a person who was actually relaxing. "You can move if you need to. The most important thing is that you're comfortable," she said.

He shook his head, watching how, for some reason, putting him at ease seemed to make her feel more at ease as well. "Is that it?" he asked.

"Now we breathe."

"I cheated. I've been breathing the whole time."

She smiled, undisturbed by the joke and replying, "Take slow, deep breaths. When you breathe in, imagine the air filling your abdomen instead of your lungs." He opened his mouth to offer a physiological argument for her suggestion, but she put a hand on his chest and said, "I know where your lungs are, but breathe so fully with your body that it lifts your diaphragm."

She took a demonstratively deep breath, and her hand moved down his chest to his abdomen. "Lift my hand as you inhale," she instructed. Reluctance appeared in the form of a frown, and she tilted her head, asking, "You've already gone this far…are you really going to draw the line at _breathing_?"

He considered the question for a moment before he finally breathed in as instructed, feeling the subtle but palpable weight of her hand on his stomach. Nodding her encouragement, she left that hand in place and signaled to him to repeat his actions again. "Make sure to exhale slowly, don't rush. The next time you exhale, pause for a moment at the end. You don't have to hold your breath, just suspend it. Wait a second or two before you begin to inhale again."

She began breathing with him, which was an oddly intimate experience. They were watching each other, their bodies both rising and falling with a wavelike, shared rhythm. It was a sensation that was both soothing and hyperaware. Her eyes stayed trained on his face, refusing to let go of the gaze that seemed unexpectedly natural. He knew she was watching his body, that her peripheral vision was keenly aware of his posture and alignment, and her hand was monitoring the rise and fall of his abdomen. Her focus was entirely on him.

He was, by nature, a man of very singular focus. He could entertain many ideas and tasks, but when his attention was on one thing, it was intense, undeterred and total. Cuddy, on the other hand, was a multi-tasker. In her way, she was an equally intense person, but her focus was, often by necessity, spread across many different things. He'd occupied _most_ of her focus once or twice before, but usually it was because her degree of anger was such that other important tasks were momentarily forgotten, or because whatever figurative fire he'd set took precedence over everything else she needed to monitor. This moment of pseudo-meditation was entirely different from the focus he'd experienced from her before.

She'd been practicing this for weeks, learning to use her physical behavior to influence her mental state, and she'd become good at it. It was obvious her body was releasing the noisy clutter of the outside world, and she was just existing right there with him. She was completely in tune with him, feeling his breath and observing the subtleties of one of the activities most basic to a human being's survival: respiration.

As his mind suddenly recognized the near thoughtless state it had reached, it resisted. Immediately he began to notice things that should have worried him. She was close, he could feel several points of shared contact, and her eyes weren't just on him, she was _seeing_ him. His cautious, conscious mind warned him that he should not feel at ease, asking, _what makes her different? _He had no answer for that question except to acknowledge that she simply _was_ different.

She seemed to sense the resurfacing stress, although he wasn't sure what made it clear to her. She removed her palm from his abdomen, resting the heel of her hand at the joining of his collarbones as her finger touched the rough scruff that reached down his neck. She calmly added, "Relax your jaw, throat and neck. Don't let your breath get caught there. That's a really common place for people to hang on to tension even when they're trying to relax." After studying his face again, she asked, "Do you want to stop?"

His brow furrowed at the question that required a conscious response. "Pretty sure I can handle breathing," he said, his voice rumbling through the point of contact between the top of his chest and the bottom of her hand.

"Okay. I'll keep going. I can see the tension in your jaw. Try to release it," she suggested.

His jaw didn't relax even after she prompted him again, his mind obviously engaged. She leaned closer, approaching on instinct alone. The rhythmic breath he'd found quickened as she neared. In any normal circumstance, he wouldn't think she'd notice this small change, but she'd been watching him so intently that he was certain she was seeing everything. Her lips pressed softly against the back corner of his cheek in front of his ear. Even though it didn't really make him relax, she'd called enough attention to that spot that he actually let go of the tight clench of his jaw.

Of course kissing him would have been completely inappropriate had she actually been his instructor, but she wasn't, and like every other interaction between them, this particular one didn't fall into a neat relationship category. Even at work, where the nature and hierarchy between them was actually written down on paper and specific guidelines for their interactions were defined by Human Resource managers and lawyers, they both operated outside of those carefully set rules and regulations.

She sat back up, returning her hand to his stomach as she tried to feel the rise and fall of his abdomen again. Unexpectedly, he propped himself up on his elbows, remaining otherwise reclined. Cuddy started to withdraw her touch, but he stopped her, trapping her hand against his stomach with his forearm. He had to ask the one question she hadn't answered, the question that had bothered him most of all. "If it wasn't about attending the spa thing…why did you want to go to a hotel?"

Shrugging and shaking her head, her eyes dropped from his as she answered, "I just thought it would keep things…separate."

"So you think you can have sex with me on Saturday night at a hotel, and then Monday morning conveniently pretend it wasn't me inside you a couple of days earlier?"

She cringed slightly at his directness, but then returned her focus to him, "No, I can't. But _I_ don't need to pretend that."

"Then what's the point?"

"I thought you could. I thought you could have sex with me on a Saturday night and then pretend it wasn't me by Monday morning. I actually thought…maybe you'd prefer it that way."

"Geography isn't going to disguise the fact that I'm me and you're you. If I wanted to have sex with a stranger, I'd just have sex with a stranger," he explained.

"How will we know which visits are professional or social and which are more…sexual?"

"I'm thinking degrees of undress and the presence of actual sexual acts might help us differentiate."

Considering his answer flippant, she continued, "It's a legitimate question. I'm trying to avoid uncomfortable moments where one of us has one idea about the evening and the other one just wants to hang out."

"I think we'd manage to figure it out. You said you wanted to see if something would happen naturally. Scheduling a trip to a hotel isn't a natural progression. It's a specific decision."

"It's too late for something to happen naturally," she said with a sort of amused disappointment. "Now it's become a whole _thing_."

"That's the problem with allowing things to happen naturally," he mused. "You can't really force them. But the good thing is that sometimes things that never seem like they'd really lead to something…actually do. Like meditation. I never would have thought that something so incredibly boring could be a turn on. But I know from experience. I'm kind of an expert on the whole thing."

"You're an expert?"

"I am. Try to relax your jaw, lots of people forget to relax that whole area," House suggested, projecting the impartation of sage advice, "You look tense."

She narrowed her eyes and pulled up one corner of her mouth into a disbelieving and suspicious non-smile, but the look slipped from her face when he lifted himself higher, bracing himself on his hands instead of his elbows. "I can try to make you aware of places where you're keeping tension," he offered, leaning across her body before barely kissing her jaw just as she had done to him earlier. "Here, too," he added as he kissed down her neck until his lips found the pulse that was pinging with an increasingly obvious beat.

Her body shifted closer to him as she savored the type of touch that she'd been craving from him. He backed away unexpectedly, shaking his head as he looked her over with a look of disapproval. "What?" she asked, already with a tone of self-defense.

"It's just that you're really, _really_ tense. And it's going to take a long time to point out all of the places on your body where you're holding the tension." He offered a quick but playfully suggestive look before he added, "Fortunately for you, I have the whole day free, and your well-being is my top priority." He sat up, reaching brazenly for the hem of her shirt as he began to pull it up over her head. As he tossed it aside, he explained, "It's easier to see the tension this way."

"Am I going to be able to afford this all day event?" she joked.

"There's no charge. I've reached such a high spiritual plane that I'm above money and material possessions. But…to be fair, if you see any areas of stiffness or rigidity on me…feel free to kiss them for as long as necessary until they're completely relaxed."

She attempted a disbelieving glare that was softened by her smile. His mood was only momentarily light before it shifted back to the more serious opportunity before him. He tightened his arm around her and brought her closer, rolling her over his body and onto her back on the mat on the floor. He pulled the tight, bright pink sports bra she'd been wearing up over her head, but when she tried to pull her arms through, his hand grasped the extra fabric and tightened the bra around her wrists, using it to temporarily hold her hands against the mat above her head.

Noting a hint of concern on her face, he lowered his body closer to hers, and said, "Breathe."

She was, at that moment, acutely aware of what he had been insisting on earlier: he was not a safe choice. She trusted him, but there was something about him that was always unpredictable and risky. She craved it, feared it, and was drawn to it. Seeking some sign of reassurance, she lifted her head, her soft lips meeting his in a tentative way that very quickly became an indication of mutual desire as they sought the kiss they'd both been imagining in their minds for weeks. It was quick though, over too soon as House pulled away and reminded her, "Are you breathing with me?"

Nodding, she returned to the proper pattern and form of breath. His one side was on the ground next to her, keeping a lot of his weight off her body, but he was still positioned partially over her. One of his hands still restrained her wrists with her own clothing, but the other moved to the center of her chest between her breasts. With one finger, he followed the shape of her body to the curve of her breast, moving in a continuous and smooth progression to her nipple. She looked down between them, waiting with impatient alertness as he circled closer. He looked at the flutter in her left breast that resulted from the pounding of her heart below, seeing the physical display of her anticipation. He flicked at her nipple with the tip of his tongue, taking his time with the breasts that were perfectly displayed before him because of her somewhat vulnerable position.

He was watching her, relishing the desire that pulsed through her. His fingers ran down the center of her body and over her belly button before they wiggled under the band of her yoga pants. Her eyes closed as her back arched slightly. The sight of him watching her watching him had become a bit too intense. This moment had been avoided, denied and feared for as long as it had been fantasized about, hoped for and desired.

His fingers wiggled again to move beneath the band of her panties, and continued until his finger first found the slick spot at the top of her slit. He moved carefully lower, pressing down a few times against her clit as he heard a hissing sound as she gasped sharply through her teeth. He slid two of his fingers lower and began rolling her clit between them as the tip of his finger pressed against her opening.

He could feel the throbbing of her sex beating in time with the pulse he could see fluttering in her breast. She could feel the hardness of his full erection against the outside of her thigh, relieved and even more turned on by the fact that he was so aroused already. The desire to touch him, to make him feel a little bit of the excitement and longing that she was feeling, was the only desire that could compete with her need for him to keep pleasing her.

He slid two fingers inside her, feeling the tight grip of her muscles. He watched her breasts shift as she put her feet flat on the ground to lift her pelvis against his hand. He pressed the heel of his hand against her clit as he moved his fingers farther into her waiting body. She moaned an involuntary rasp of demanding desire, and, as it distracted his mind, his grip loosened on her bra and her hands were freed. She rolled until he was under her. With only one free hand, he opened his jeans, feeling her fingers grasping for his erection as soon as his zipper was completely down and she could reach into his boxers.

She abruptly stood, and he sat up to pull her remaining clothes down over her legs while she stepped out of them before he removed his own jeans and shirt. The moment he was done removing his clothes, she was sliding against his body again, their exposed figures finally meeting. She held his sex in her hands, stroking him just so she could watch desire and arousal build throughout his entire being. He felt the heat of her body as it moved closer, her silky wetness finally beginning to surround him.

He watched her face as she moved closer, and he could see that she wasn't trying to disregard his identity. He was the one that she wanted, and even if they weren't going to be in a relationship, what was happening between them certainly wasn't meaningless. His hand moved to her hip, his thumb rubbing along her belly with shockingly patient warmth. Closing her eyes, she lowered her body as he guided her hips, steadily pressing her down to him.

Her body was tight around him, thudding against the weighty presence of him within her. While they began to move, slowly at first, their bodies automatically began to breathe together again. The connection they'd felt earlier was broadened as they were both completely aware of each other and they way it felt to be joined. That connection was passionate and powerful, and the slow pace that they'd begun with as they learned each other's angles and rhythms didn't last before more carnal, basic desires won out, and they just fucked like they needed it to survive. The sheer intensity of _them_ made things rougher than either had anticipated, as feelings that had been long bottled up finally had some outlet.

Such an intense expression of need and lust peaked quickly. Seconds after they'd allowed their desires to make their sex frantic, she started to come. As her orgasm rose from pleasurable to toe-curling, he kept plunging into her body with the same desperate need to join her, creating post-orgasmic pulses through her body with each powerful thrust that made her climax seem to last forever. As he came, he continued moving inside her like he wasn't going to stop, his body feeling a burst of immeasurable bliss that subsequently free-fell into dizzy relaxation. Their orgasms had completely swept the intensity out from under them and left them as lifeless as two still-living beings could be. She rested with her body draped over him as they remained collapsed in a pile on a mat on the floor.

Before House was really ready for conversation, Cuddy offered, "If you decide you don't want to do this anymore—"

"Can you wait and break it off when you're not naked on top of me?" he countered, the end of this personal relationship between them already flashing before his eyes and stabbing into him.

"I'm not breaking it off. I want you to know that I will understand if you need to end it."

"I'm trying to figure out how to convince you to keep doing this, and you're already giving me a way out?"

She bit her lip as her eyes smiled at him. "You want to keep doing this?"

"Why wouldn't I? Now, do we have to go to a hotel if we're feeling frisky again later, or can we stay here?"

"We can stay here," she nodded. "But—"

"Here we go…" he interrupted, as he sat up and reached for his jeans so he could put them back on.

She blocked him from retrieving his clothing. "You don't need those right now," she explained. She placed her hands and knees on either side of his legs as she hovered over his body, whispering, "I need to get a shower. Want to come along?"

He blinked as his eyes widened slightly, "Sure. I could give you a hand."

"I'd really appreciate your assistance," she answered as he closed the gap between them and brushed his lips against hers.


	3. Impetus

_A/N-Hey everyone. Thanks again to all who've taken an interest, and to the reviewers: JLCH, newsession, freeasabird14, Abby, Woodses 1 and 2, ikissedtheLaurie, jkarr, jaybe61, lenasti16, Suzieqlondon, jayfukae, Naomi, murphycat, HuddyGirl, grouchysnarky, Azes, RochelleRene, LoveMyHouse, bladesmum, sweetysaucy and the Guests._

* * *

**-Impetus-**

There was one basic promise in their arrangement. They'd decided after their passion-clouded meditation room sex that they could continue to go condom-free as long as neither party was having sex with anyone else. This was a practical agreement made for their own health and safety. Even as a hater of rules in general, House had a profound appreciation for that one rule. He certainly wasn't going to admit that he didn't want her to have sex with anyone else, or that he really didn't mind avoiding any partner but her. More importantly, it gave him a legitimate reason to keep tabs on any other men in her life in a way that wouldn't lead to accusations of jealousy or hidden feelings. Of course he noticed that Cuddy seemed to take advantage of their agreement to monitor him as well.

There were realities that he acknowledged some nights when she ran so late that he thought she might not show. He knew this couldn't last forever. A relationship like theirs seemed doomed to fizzle out or be replaced by a more traditional relationship with a more suited partner. Long term relationships weren't built on sex alone. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was deep in denial as she tried to protect herself from the losses she'd felt, and that he would be inevitably cut once she realized that she was avoiding the life she truly wanted. In spite of the fact that it seemed obvious that their arrangement was temporary, he found himself unable to walk away without letting it play out to its inevitable conclusion.

They often made excuses to stay, rarely admitting that they simply _wanted _to stay. But more often than not, sex blended into late-night dinners, movies, shared showers, and coffee at breakfast. As their interactions continued, the boundaries between their sexual, personal and professional relationships became increasingly hazy. Since things were working well enough, there seemed to be no point in trying to change them, so everything stayed roughly the same.

Wilson stopped at Cuddy's one evening and found House at her table. It was obvious that House hadn't just stopped by for a quick chat. There were a couple of nearly empty glasses and crumb-speckled plates on the table. Both House and Cuddy were barefoot and casually dressed and apparently enjoying an evening. More telling than the bare feet or casual dress or extremely laidback atmosphere was the placement of the chairs. There were four chairs around Cuddy's table, two undisturbed and placed in perfect quarters of the table, but House and Cuddy's chairs were pushed together. She leaned against the table when she sat down, her body facing him. He sat turned toward her as well, with the arm closest to her over the backrest so his posture was sort of open in her direction. Had some unseen force pushed their seats just a little closer together, it looked like they would have fit together like puzzle pieces.

Wilson knew of their meetings outside of work, but this scene was far more intimate and cozy than anything he'd been prepared for. They'd confessed to him that the relationship had physical aspects because he was already suspicious and worried before they'd embarked down that path, but they insisted that they were just 'hanging out.' Of course once he realized what was going on, Wilson was worried for entirely different reasons.

When Cuddy left the table to deal with a call from the hospital, Wilson whisper-shouted, "Do you really want me to believe that there's _nothing_ going on here?"

"Of course there's something going on here," House bluntly answered. "I've already told you. She's already told you. Do you need it in writing?"

"Sex? That's _all _that's going on here? It seems like more than just sex."

"It _is_ more than just sex. It's really great sex. Until something better comes along or one of us gets bored, we're going to keep having really great sex. Stop overcomplicating everything."

"This," Wilson pointed at the evidence of their dinner that still remained on the table between them, "doesn't look like sex."

"Of course it doesn't look like sex. It's a table."

Wilson's irritation, not only of from this particular conversation but from the entire situation between his friends as of late, was definitely starting to show. "You are both going to get hurt if you don't acknowledge what is going on here. This is _already_ a relationship. You seem happier. She seems happier. You are together more nights than you are apart. Can't you just admit it?"

"You really need me to?"

"I need you to," Wilson explained resolutely. "Not for me…for yourself."

"Fine," House sighed, taking a deep breath as he prepared for a grand confession. "The table does look a little like sex."

"You're such an asshole," Wilson muttered as Cuddy returned.

* * *

Just a few days after Wilson's visit, House was in the middle of a differential with his team when Cuddy entered the room. He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice until she approached the table and stood next to him. He looked up at her and she stated, "I need to speak to you for a minute."

She nodded toward his office, so he grabbed his cane and followed her, trying to think of a way to avoid the discussion that was going to follow. He was convinced immediately that she was going to end it, right there in the middle of the day in his office, but, then again, he was always convinced that she was going to end it. He cringed each time he received a text or a call from her until he confirmed that she wasn't calling things off. Of course she had no idea that he had these concerns because he never said anything to her about it.

Once they were in his office, she smiled amicably at him and said, "My license and bank card are still in your wallet."

"Oh," he nodded, puffing his cheeks and breathing out a sigh of relief before he caught himself.

"What did you think I was going to say?" she asked as she noticed his reaction.

Ignoring her question, he nodded toward the conference room where his team was still sitting. Limping quickly into the room, he grabbed his backpack and pulled out his wallet. Turning his back to his team for the exchange, he gave her the cards. "See you later," she whispered, and he felt a flash of excitement simply from those few words and the ideas they provoked.

After Cuddy was gone, House returned to his team and asked, "You're sure the patient hasn't been out of the country since oh-four?"

"What did Cuddy want?" Kutner asked.

"Condoms…something about donor appreciation day," House answered absently as he repetitively slid two fingertips along a marker until he'd reach the end before he'd flip the marker around and repeat the process.

"It looked more like a credit card," Taub smugly suggested.

"Why would you give her your credit card?" Kutner asked.

House countered simply, "They're hers. They were in my wallet because she didn't want to carry her purse on my bike. Now that the great credit card mystery is cleared up, let's get back to the mystery of the rapidly deteriorating patient. Talk to her without her family in the room. She's been out of the country in the last six months."

The team didn't move, all eyes remaining on House for further explanation. Speculation about a relationship between the dean and the diagnostician had been spreading like wildfire in recent weeks. Thirteen, slightly irritated by her coworkers and their obsession with House and Cuddy's personal lives, answered, "So they're dating? It's not really that surprising." Looking at House and sharing a momentary feeling of camaraderie, she said, "Nice going, House. Have fun."

Any camaraderie that she may have felt instantly disappeared when he looked at her and sneered, "We're not _dating_."

Kutner folded his arms high on his chest and stubbornly shook his head at House, "You're lying about the cards. Dr. Cuddy knows of your penchant for stealing Dr. Wilson's credit cards and charging things on them. Why would she take that risk and hand them over voluntarily?"

House braced his forearms on the edge of the table and folded his hands as he replied, "But Cuddy _knew_ I had her card, so any purchases that would have been made that weren't hers could easily be tracked to me. The people who should be worried are those who don't _know _that I have their cards." House glanced just briefly but very distinctly at two people: Foreman and Taub. Taub quickly fumbled for his wallet, as Foreman glared and also took a quick inventory of his cards like he didn't want to be bothered to do so.

"Fine," House said, standing and declaring as he walked toward the door, "I'll talk to the patient."

As he left, Kutner looked at Thirteen and said, "Is it just me, or did we just see what House looks like when he's happy…at least as happy as House gets?"

* * *

Later that week, minutes after his case was solved, House headed to her place. They'd barely seen each other in the previous days because he had a secret project he was working on, and his patient's condition would so rapidly shift that he never left the hospital for long. He'd missed Cuddy. He wasn't going to say it, but he knew it. Before he'd arrived, he'd already decided he was going to stay for the night and delay her return to work the next morning for as long as possible.

When he arrived she was on the phone. She signaled to him to wait a minute while she paced and chatted in her hallway. He leaned against her door, watching the way her robe moved over and around her body. He wasn't really paying attention to the conversation until he saw her posture tense. She answered, with obvious caution, "Not interested." After listening to her caller, she replied, "Because I don't want one. End of story."

He took a few steps over to her, blocking her path so she couldn't continue to pace. Whispering into her free ear without touching her, he asked, "What don't you want?"

"Mmm-hmm," she answered the person on the other end of the phone before looking up at him and mouthing, "Hello, stranger."

"You seem busy. Should I go?" he asked at a more typical volume.

Shaking her head, she mouthed, "Stay," to House and then said into her phone, "Just the TV." She gasped in the next second when he unexpectedly grabbed onto her ass and lifted her against him, walking back toward the wall. Her legs automatically lifted, wrapping around his hips while she tightened them around him. Kissing along her throat, she felt his tongue tasting and lips nipping at her skin as he moved down toward her chest. Some days the way he would push and shove to get whatever he wanted was infuriating, but, when it came to sex, his insistence could be ridiculously erotic.

He wondered if she missed him too, because she wasn't even trying to delay him. She rocked her hips against him as he took a few steps into the living room and lowered her onto the ottoman. Moving down onto his knees, his thumb traced the silky end of her robe as he looked into her eyes. He untied the robe while he stared, his eyes never leaving her face to follow their usual path all over her form. He never seemed to tire of the visual tour he'd take of her body when she was naked in front of him, but it wasn't a priority that night. Loosening the knot, he slipped the ends of the tie open and parted her robe. His peripheral vision sensed and his hands confirmed that she had absolutely nothing on under her robe, and he guessed that she must have been interrupted from her usual end of day routine by a call from someone, probably her sister, who often called mid-week evenings after the kids were asleep. It wasn't weird that he knew that anymore.

He didn't look away when his fingers caressed the shape of her body from the caps of her shoulders, down her sides, over her hips, along her legs, and down her calves until his fingers followed the arches at the bottoms of her feet. His hand curled around the back of her leg just above her ankle and began to ascend again, and he felt her knees fall open, inviting him to avoid hesitation. He watched her while he moved closer to her sex, holding her attention while his mouth disappeared between her thighs and she felt his tongue slither between her folds to find the spot he wanted.

She looked away for a moment to try to pay attention to whatever was being said by her caller, and he stubbornly stopped and rested his chin low on her belly while he waited. As soon as she looked at him for an explanation, he braced his hands on the ottoman next to her hips and moved his mouth back to her sex as he nodded. Every time she'd look away, he'd pause, waiting for her to return her attention to him.

She'd been trying to end the call for a while, eventually giving up and letting the persistent talker continue on while Cuddy ignored the conversation. Her poise was withering as her hips shifted under him, sometimes lifting, sometimes rocking to the side. As she watched House, she saw the muscles in her own thighs and stomach tensing, and she knew that if she came, she wasn't going to be able to be _completely_ silent. She looked away again, this time wanting him to stop until she could hang up, but this time he didn't, probably because he knew she wanted him to.

"Sorry. Emergency at the hospital I gotta go," she abruptly interrupted her caller. "Talk to you later."

She ended the call and tossed her phone on the chair behind her, her head lulling back as she waited for him to continue, but now that she was ready for him, he waited for her attention again. Lifting her head, she narrowed her eyes and groaned, "Four days, House. I've been waiting four days for you to come over."

"Four _whole_ days…however did you survive?" He grinned, feeling satisfied and pleased before his tongue smoothed over her clit, laving over the places so desperately in need of his attention that they were beginning to really ache. When she teetered right on the edge between utter frustration and crashing release, she was afraid to look away, worried that he'd stop and the tide of this orgasm would retreat too quickly or never really overcome her at all. She could already _feel_ how amazing it was going to be if he would just continue _exactly _what he was doing, so she kept his gaze. His hands wrapped around the outsides of her thighs, cradling them and lifting her slightly to his mouth as he kept lapping and flicking against her until she shrieked at the height of it all, her eyes moving to the ceiling as her body reached the point where it couldn't seek any more pleasure and every maxed out nerve prayed for a break.

While she sat up, he was stripping as quickly as he could, kicking off shoes, jeans and boxers, while he pulled his shirt over his head. He didn't care that his longing for her was so obvious, but he probably wasn't capable of hiding it anymore. He lowered down, his hands bracing on the ottoman as he knelt in front of her again, pulling her hips off the edge of the furniture as he slid his length through her folds, feeling the slippery, swollen heat of her before he pushed slowly into her body. As soon as he was surrounded by her, his sole focus was on finding resolution for the discordant tension that wound through him.

He took her with demanding passion, thrusting into her as his hands surrounded her hips and refused to let go, seeking the release he didn't just want, but actually needed. Somehow finding that point of sheer pleasure was even better than what he'd hoped for, but then again, it usually was with her.

She skated her fingers over his spine as he lay on her. There was something different about him, she was certain of that. Sighing contentedly, she wondered, "So tell me…who were you just thinking about?"

He lifted his head from her chest, knowing that she thought she'd hidden the hint of possessiveness in her voice. "My boss. Jealous?" he answered. Putting his head back down, his scruff scratched her skin as he settled into a comfortable spot. The question lingered in his brain before he popped back up and suspiciously asked, "But maybe _you_ were thinking about someone else?"

"No, not at all. It's just…you seemed more _worked up_ than usual. I thought maybe you were inspired by someone. I'm not mad, I just wanted to know who."

"I practically forced you to look at me the entire time I went down on you. Probably hard to think about someone else with my face between your legs and you staring at me like that. As you've already pointed out, it's been four days. And you wore that shirt today that I didn't have time to properly appreciate, but I definitely noticed."

For sex that was supposed to exist outside of a romantic relationship, it was anything but impersonal. He stood, pulling her up until she was standing in front of him. He stooped slightly, lifting her until she wrapped her legs around him again and he started to limp down the hall to her room.

She felt good. Aside from the great sex, there was a certain excitement that came from being able to make House feel, in some way, less unhappy. People had been asking her if she could be the reason why he had been a bit more pleasant, at least for him. She saw it, too, the change in him recently. She rested her head against his shoulder, feeling pretty good about everything until she noticed one glaringly unusual detail. "Where's your cane?" she asked concernedly, leaning back so she could study his expression.

He kicked the door to the bedroom shut, falling with her onto her bed. "On the bike."

"How is this happening?"

He looked down at his body and answered, "It's not happening yet. Calm down, nympho."

"That's not what I mean and you know it," she retorted. "How are you walking so well without your cane? How did you kneel on the floor for that long? The sex…the difference in you…it wasn't because you were thinking about someone new, it was because your leg isn't bothering you?" she asked, sitting up, her voice full of hope.

He moved up until his head was on a pillow and answered, "Taking a new approach to pain management."

"Meditation?" she asked with shocked disbelief.

"God, no," he huffed. "New drug."

"What drug?"

"Methadone. So far, it works. Limp's still there, but the pain is practically gone."

"Are you _completely_ insane? You're going to just ignore the risk of respiratory arrest, coma, _death_?"

"I'm not taking Vicodin with it. I haven't touched it for days. I'll be fine. The Vicodin was barely working anymore, and I was taking plenty. It was going to catch up with me. I don't even miss it."

"That's not a permanent solution," she warned.

"I'll worry about the next step when the time comes."

"You're acting like you switched to ibuprofen. This is m_ethadone_!"

"So it's okay for you to look for atypical ways to live your life when normal doesn't work, but it's not okay for me? You've made a very compelling argument for dealing with pain in innovative ways."

"This is my fault?"

"I'd never blame _you_ for reducing my pain," he sarcastically countered.

"I'm glad you're not in pain, but this is dangerous. Don't you get that? Whenever someone switches from another opiate to methadone the risks skyrocket. This isn't something to play around with."

"Greatest risk is during the three or four weeks while my body adjusts, or if I try taking both at the same time. I won't take both."

"But in those three or four weeks…you could _die._ That's a pretty permanent condition."

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure you could find someone else to be your _more than a friend_."

"I can't believe you just said that," she said, angrily shaking her head.

"Don't start to pretend this is true love now, Cuddy."

"I've told you several times that you mean a lot to me, which is more than you've ever said to me."

He sat up and admitted, "This arrangement has been great. The last couple of months have been…enjoyable…but I need more—"

"You want more?" she interrupted too quickly, her face blanching as she stared with surprise, confusion and what was either hope or fear or maybe both.

He looked over, pausing before he explained, "I meant my leg. What we have is great, but fucking you doesn't fix my pain problem."

"Right," she said, either dejected or relieved. He really hated that he couldn't seem to read her. "Well, this is too risky," she redirected.

"I wasn't asking for your approval."

"I can't act like I'm fine with this."

"You don't need to be fine with this. But don't make me choose," he said so determinedly that it was clear he wasn't willing to give up the methadone.

"Fine. I'm not asking you to choose. I'm asking you to try to be a little smart _while _you're being incredibly stupid because I'm sure talking you out of being stupid is pointless."

"You're afraid I'm going to die in your bed some night and everyone will know what's been going on."

"If you died in my bed, half of the hospital would hold a parade in my honor," she tried to joke, but her eyes were full of concern. "I'll make you a deal. You try the methadone, but we admit you to the hospital for observation for a few weeks while you transition."

He shook his head, "I'm fine with the methadone part of your offer, but I'm not letting you admit me. I don't need to make a deal here. I'm doing it with or without your approval."

"Fine. Let me monitor you."

"What part of 'no' aren't you hearing?" he argued.

"Not at the hospital, here. I'll…monitor your vitals when you sleep and do periodic assessments."

"You're going to use hospital equipment for personal use?" he gasped exaggeratedly.

"I'll rent what I need. Look, all that I'm asking for is one month. You can sleep here at my place. You're here most nights anyway. Let me monitor you so if something happens, I can respond."

"That's a lot of trouble to go to for a fuck buddy."

"That's not what you are. You _know _that," she said through a clenched jaw, her hand dropping loudly onto the mattress and punctuating her frustration.

"I know all about what I'm not. I'm not your friend or your boyfriend or just an employee or a fuck buddy. We've covered what I'm _not_."

She responded. "Okay. If you have this all figured out, why don't you tell me how you see us? What am I to you?"

Of course he didn't reply.

She nodded at him, her eyes telling him that she'd expected that he wouldn't answer. "Our arrangement may be different, but that doesn't mean the way I feel isn't genuine."

Turning his head while still resting on the pillow, he asked, "How you feel is _genuine_?" After she nodded, he continued, "And what is the nature of these genuine feelings that you feel?"

She silently wrestled her thoughts, angry that he seemed so willing to push her toward a confession when he was so unwilling to disclose his own feelings or lack thereof. "I feel…" she began, pausing one last time, "like I don't want you to die. I also don't want to fight right now because I don't want you to disappear and decide to do whatever the hell you want regardless of your own safety. I'll work with you on the methadone, I'll secure your doses for you right there at the hospital, legally, by prescription. All that I'm asking is that you let me monitor you for one month. You also need someone on your team or Wilson to know what's going on and keep an eye on you at work."

His hand was resting on his stomach, and he tapped a thumb against his rib a few times before he said, "Not here. My place."

"All of my stuff is here. I need more of my stuff than you need of your stuff."

"But some of my stuff is impossible to move. No deal," he said, like the discussion was final.

"We'll alternate weeks," she continued to negotiate.

He sighed and grumbled like he wanted her to leave him alone, not letting her see the weird warming feeling that was spreading through his chest and head at her insistence. "Fine," he groaned, teasing, "I will allow you the pleasure of my company."

She answered, dryly, "Wow. Thank you."

He'd expected her to seem proud of her victory, but all he could see was her nervousness. He sat up, and bumped her shoulder with his. "You're not actually that worried about this?" he asked.

She shook her head quickly, and then, telling the most obvious lie that he'd ever witnessed, she said, "I'm not worried."

Oddly enough he didn't call her out on her lie. They leaned toward each other at the same moment, heads tilting slightly, lips meeting and parting as they hesitantly shared a slow kiss that seemed difficult to break once they'd begun. He felt her reaching for his sex, and his mind sped to the question of whether she was doing it because she wanted to, or thought he wanted her to, or if it was because they weren't very familiar with the concept of touching each other outside of a sexual context. He grabbed her wrist, and shook his head, "Not right now."

"Oh," she answered, backing up uncertainly.

"If you need me to, I could give you a—"

"No," she interjected quickly, "I'm fine."

They sat there for a lengthy, tense silence, both feeling strange about making out with the same person they'd been fucking for months. That made kissing her in this context feel inherently prohibited, so he did it again. After they parted, he stretched out in her bed, closing his eyes and, as loosely and non-possessively as possible, he curled an arm around her and tried to coax her to take the spot next to him.

"No way," she warned, "get up."

"You're kicking me out?" he asked, suddenly looking as uncertain and concerned as she had looked a few minutes earlier.

"We're going to go get a monitor for your vitals so something will wake me up if you stop breathing."

"Tonight?"

"Right now. We need to go before you fall asleep."

"I thought you weren't worried…," he suspiciously accused.

"I won't be once we have the monitor," she snipped back.

Squinting right through her, he added, "You sure?"

She grabbed clothes from her dresser and closet. As she walked past him toward the bathroom, she said in an overtly caring way, "God, you're a pain in my ass."

After the bathroom door shut, he shouted after her, smirking, "Just remember, you're the one who wanted to stay with me for the next month, _roomie_."


	4. Tests

_A/N: Hey all. I know I was supposed to end this in 3-4 chaps, but I need 5 to tie it up. (I know, always go longer than I say I will.) Thanks to the reviewers: jkarr, Boo's House, freeasabird14, lenasti16, MissBates, OldSFfan, housebound, Abby, MWoods78, Suzieqlondon, Little Greg, Bere, HuddyGirl, IkissedtheLaurie, Melanie, maya295, dmarchl, Bladesmum, LoveMyHouse, Huddyphoric, Ann and the Guests._

* * *

**-Tests-**

The first week together was going to be spent at House's apartment at his insistence. In spite of the equipment that she'd gathered to monitor his vitals, Cuddy still had trouble sleeping. After years of listening to the beeps and hums of the same machines, they were suddenly glaringly loud and distracting. He slept with amazing soundness the first night she monitored him. The methadone guaranteed that. Every time she'd get close to deeper sleep, the slightest elongation in the seconds from one beep to the next woke her. Oxygen levels held steady for most of the night though, enough to finally allow her to rest shortly before morning.

After she showered, she cursed the poor lighting in his bathroom as she tried to hide the evidence of an inadequate night's sleep. When she stepped out from the bathroom and finished dressing, he was reading some publication that rested on the kitchen island while he drank his morning coffee. The fact that he was already dressed was strange, given that it was only a few minutes after seven. He actually had one mug ready for her, allowing the coffee to cool just enough so she could finish it quickly.

"Eating?" he asked without looking away from his reading.

She pulled an apple out of his fridge that she'd left during a previous visit, sulking for a moment when she saw it had flattened on one side when it had begun to rot. "No time," she answered, fluttering past him to finish getting ready so she could get to the hospital early enough to plan for her nine o'clock meeting. She bustled back the kitchen to say goodbye, and found the room empty. There wasn't time to figure out where he'd gone, so she grabbed her purse and found him leaning against the wall by the door.

His jacket was already on, backpack slung over his shoulder as he asked, "Ready?"

"_You _are going in _now_?"

"I can't sleep without someone with me as per our agreement, so I better keep moving. Besides, I don't have a new patient yet and your last meeting is at three. We still have four sexless days to make up for. Thought we could work on making up some of the deficit this evening."

The thought of him arriving for work at shortly after seven wasn't just different, it was bizarre, but she didn't have time to argue about his motivations, and spending an evening in his apartment having sex certainly sounded like a great way to end the day, so she nodded, "Alright. I should be done by five."

"Perfect," he answered, grabbing the door knob, opening the door and gesturing for her to step through.

Goodbyes had often been weird for them. They didn't ever exchange friendly hugs, and if they kissed before parting, it was usually because one of them was trying to build anticipation for the next time they'd meet. "I gotta run," she said, sort of waving goodbye before she walked through the outer door of his apartment building.

She hopped in her car, immediately turning the key in the ignition and quickly checking her reflection in the visor mirror before she shifted the car into drive. As her eyes drifted to the side mirror to see if it was safe to pull out, she heard a sharp knocking on her window. House was standing on the curb, tapping the glass with one knuckle as he stooped down to look in her car. She hit the button to roll down the window and said, impatiently, "I really have to get to work."

He reached in, hitting the control to unlock the door before he opened it, and filled the passenger seat with his long frame. "Then let's go."

"You're riding in _with_ me?" she asked as her hands dropped from the steering wheel into her lap.

"Why not? Unless…," he paused as he scrutinized her face. He nodded with an acceptance that seemed so unlike him. He wrapped his fingers around the door handle and whispered as if someone could possibly hear them alone in the car, "I get it. You don't want people at the hospital to see us show up together. You said you don't mind the rumors, but I guess confirming them is an entirely different situation. It's no problem."

He was far too accommodating, that seemed painfully clear as she considered the accusation that she was hiding the extent of their personal relationship. She heard the sound of the door latch disengaging so he could get out, and she suddenly stated, "You probably shouldn't be driving until we're sure of the effect the methadone has on you. Buckle up."

House pulled the door shut again and sat back, somewhat disappointed that the outcome of his maneuver could lead to her questioning his ability to operate a vehicle.

Before she started to drive, she said, cautiously, "I think we need to be careful at work."

"I was screwing with you," he countered with irritation. "I can drive myself."

"I'll drive you," she firmly stated. "I'm not hiding anything. I'm not going to live my life to please other people, and besides, we both know most people at the hospital think we've been having sex for a long time. But I think I should talk to HR…as a precaution."

"About what?"

"I need to make it clear that you and I have a relationship beyond work. I don't care if people know, I don't mind driving you in, but I need to be careful because of my position." He hadn't expected this move. "House…," she started, trying to get his attention again, "you don't have to decide right now. I'll call you a cab if you want time to think about it. But if you want to be more open about this, I need to think about my career. I need to be smart."

"You want to go to HR and tell them that I'm not your boyfriend or your friend, but we're practically living together because I'm trying methadone to manage my pain and, oh yea, we've been having sex for months and will probably keep having sex for a while? Is that what you're planning on telling them?"

"I may not be quite that specific, but that's the general idea." He stared ahead, clearly disconcerted by the fact that the test he had tried to run had an unexpected result. She cleared her throat, "I have to get to work. If you want to, take today to think about it."

He shook his head, closing the door, "I have nothing to hide."

He thought maybe he'd called her bluff, but she nodded and smiled as she pointed at his seatbelt, "Okay. I'll set up a meeting."

House was certain she'd change her mind, but later that day, they sat in HR. To the best of her ability, Cuddy tried to come clean about their relationship while House listened to every word and watched every flinch or change in her posture. At the end of the meeting, under the watchful and skeptical eye of the HR Director, they both signed agreements that their personal lives would not interfere with their duties at the hospital. Oddly enough, the relationship that didn't even exist was on file with HR at Princeton-Plainsboro.

* * *

Little had changed between them under the terms of their new arrangement. More of her personal items were in his apartment and it was convenient knowing that they'd be spending each night together without having to set specific plans. The only other noticeable shift was simply the amount of time spent. Since they didn't have as much time alone, they began to see things they hadn't before.

Cuddy was horrified when she watched House dig a loose checkbook out of his desk drawer to pay his bills. The top check was bent and one edge of the book was crimped from the way it had been shoved into an overcrowded drawer. He didn't record his checks or balance his account. He didn't necessarily wash his dishes after every meal as she would have, but living with him wasn't nearly as disordered as she'd anticipated. He was also welcoming in ways she hadn't expected. At some point he'd stolen some granola and a few apples from the hospital cafeteria, and he often watched things on TV that he thought she wouldn't hate. At the end of each day she would hook up the equipment to check his oxygen level and monitor his heart while he slept, and they were reminded that this situation was both serious and temporary.

Near the end of the first week together at his apartment, the home phone rang as they stood in the kitchen. It was late at night, and House was making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when Cuddy handed him the phone so he could see who was calling. The hand-off was awkward since their focus was on an argument they were having about the dangers versus benefits of trying insufficiently tested treatments, but when he took the phone, her thumb brushed the button and inadvertently answered the call. Although the argument wasn't angry, it was spirited, so Cuddy was animatedly defending her position when she saw House wince at the phone as he licked the remaining peanut butter from the knife. She stopped talking while she tried to figure out the problem, and then she could hear the tiny, muffled voice of a woman emanating from the phone, asking, "Gregory? Are you there?"

His eyes closed as he lifted the phone and brought it to his ear and answered, "Hi, Mom." Taking a few steps away from her, Cuddy heard him say, "Watching a movie. What's going on?" He grabbed a glass and poured a drink before he went to the sofa and sat. He'd kept his promise to avoid mixing alcohol and methadone, but it was clear he wished his drink could have been stronger.

Cuddy couldn't hear the conversation, but she could see him. He looked different as hints of the deference and admiration he'd had for his mother in his youth could still be seen beneath his rough exterior. At the same time, the misanthropic, stubborn, independent adult in him seemed to want nothing more than to get off the phone with the only living person who had known him since birth.

The call didn't last all that long before he returned to the kitchen, pouring more to drink. He glanced up at Cuddy before he turned away and said into the phone, "I won't forget…I know. Bye."

As soon as he'd disconnected the call, Cuddy said, "I am so sorry."

"She was going to catch me eventually."

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine. She needs me to do something for her," he disinterestedly replied. "It's probably for the best. If I didn't answer soon, I'm sure she would have shown up on my doorstep, and, face it, it would be harder to convince her you're a movie if she's staring at you."

While getting a cup out of his cupboard to have tea before bed, she found several mugs near the back in various styles, all with unfamiliar names on them. "Who are Gary and Roxanne?" Cuddy curiously asked, holding those two cups in her hands.

"How should I know?"

"Why do you have their mugs?"

"Because there weren't a lot of mug-lovin' Garys or Roxannes who went to the stores I bought them in." Cuddy wrinkled her forehead, still confused and waiting for an answer that made sense. House finally explained, "At the end of the year, when stores get new merchandise, they sell last year's stuff for dirt cheap. They always have crap with names on it."

"And you don't have the money to buy them at full price?"

He shrugged. "I have a normal set…they were a gift. Why waste the money on something stupid like mugs?"

Cuddy held up one that said 'James' and smiled, "You got one for Wilson?"

House admitted, "That's the only one he isn't allowed to use. Irritates the hell out of him." She smiled, giggling softly while she finally selected the 'Roxanne' mug and he added, "I was sure you were going to go with 'Gary.'"

Somewhat tentatively, she asked, "Do you think she would like me?"

"Roxanne?"

"Your mother."

"You want to meet my mother?" he asked, jaw slightly slack with shock.

"Oh, no. I was just curious, if she would have shown up on your doorstep…I was wondering what she would have thought."

"She'd wonder why you don't want to make me official." He leaned forward slightly with a straightforward expression that made it clear that he expected an answer to something that wasn't technically a question.

Concentrating on carefully selecting an herbal tea from the cache she'd brought with her, she took her time before replying, "Did she like your girlfriends in the past?"

"I guess. We're not really a heart-to-heart conversation kind of family. I didn't make a lot of special visits to Mom's for dinner." He stepped behind her, putting his hands on the sink on either side of her and resting his chin on her shoulder. "I don't know what that would tell you anyway, since it's like comparing apples and oranges."

"What do you mean?" she asked over her shoulder, her cheek brushing against his face when she turned.

"Whatever she may have thought or not thought about my girlfriends, _you_…are not my girlfriend."

"True," Cuddy said, sidestepping to the sink to get water while he followed.

"But…what's not to like?" House asked while he peered over her shoulder, watching his hands move over her stomach and leisurely rise until they cupped her breasts.

"I'm stubborn."

"I like persistent women," he said before he nipped at an exposed piece of her shoulder.

"I'm career-driven."

"Which means you have money."

"I like doing things my way," she said as she held her hand under running water.

"Your way is alright…sometimes."

She laughed, knowing he wasn't really listening and loudly asking, "When have you _ever_ liked doing things my way?"

"Try me," he answered, undeterred by her doubt because he was too interested in her body.

"Unzip," she ordered, expecting him to ignore her already. He did as he was instructed although his mouth never left her shoulder and neck, and his hands were sliding back around her as soon as they were free. "I'm also kinda mean," she said as she reached behind her back between them. One hand, a hand that had been heated under hot water in the sink, slipped into his boxers, and he felt the warm way her fingers wrapped slowly around his sex, escalating his already nascent level of arousal.

"You're not so bad," he insisted, only vaguely realizing that her other hand was still under running water.

"You sure?" she asked as her other hand, one that had been under very cold running water, interlaced with the warmer fingers of her other hand and firmly surrounded him. His chest expanded as he inhaled sharply before he unsteadily exhaled. The confusion in his nerves as his body registered the alternating feelings of hot and cold made the sensation so wonderful and intense that his hands actually let go of her for a moment, his fingers extending before they conformed to her shape again. "Feel good?" she asked.

"Yes," he growled as he pressed against her, her hips pushed against the sink while her hands remained between them.

She continued until the chill in her fingers was nearly gone, warmed by the heat of his body and friction, so she turned, putting her hands on his hips and pushing him back a few steps. Going to the freezer, she tossed a few ice cubes in a glass and gave him a look so devilish and sweet that it felt as enticing as her warm and cold fingers had seconds earlier. She rubbed one cube against her lips, her tongue wrapping around it occasionally to lap up the droplets of water that were forming.

He closed the space between them, leaning down and kissing her chilled lips before he slipped his tongue warmly into her mouth. Her fingers, icy again, ran up his neck and the back of his head, and he pulled back for a moment, with more than lust making his eyes heavy. He shook his head as she seductively licked his lip, and then she smiled and asked, "What?"

"I like your stubborn, mean ways," he admitted. "If other people don't like it, more for me."

"Be careful what you say," she teased, "I'll be harder to get rid of when you get bored."

"What words, exactly, should I avoid so I don't get too tied down?" he joked back.

She ignored the question, as she seemed to ignore any question on this topic. In that moment that contained both levity and longing, he admitted silently that he, without a doubt, was in love with her. He saw the proof of that as clear as day because, if given the choice, he would have chosen words over deeds. He wanted her to answer his questions, all of his questions, more than he wanted the physical pleasure she was about to offer. He wanted to know if there was a way that he could have just a little more of her. He needed to know if she felt the same way. He was almost _positive_ he could see the signs, but either she wasn't willing to accept it, or if she had accepted it, she wasn't going to admit it to him.

He needed a test, something that would show an honest reaction in an unexpected moment. A moment that wasn't confused by feelings that came from sex or friendship or jealousy, and could point out to her exactly how she felt in a way that he could plainly see and she couldn't deny.

His plotting was disrupted when he felt her cold lips brush against the head of his cock, moving over him like he was the ice cube. "I even like how you tell me shut up," he commented.

Pausing for a moment, she smirked at him without even the pretense of innocence. Her eyes gazed up while she wrapped her lips around his sex and sucked her cheeks tightly around him. Accepting that this might not be the best time to think, he placed his fingers at the back of her neck and decided he'd be a complete fool to push for answers he wouldn't get when the alternative she'd offered felt so good. There would be plenty of time to think later.

Later hit hard, as thoughts pummeled him and weighed like cinderblocks. Since he'd begun the methadone, sleep usually came easily, but as he was lying in bed with her next to him, relaxed after his orgasm, all he craved was answers…and her. It was a constant, demanding need. It was hard to admit, but what he had simply wasn't enough. It seemed almost ridiculous to him that he had what many men would consider a perfect arrangement, tons of mind-blowing sex with a beautiful woman who expected almost nothing from him. Yet the need remained, inhabiting even the spaces between thoughts and the milliseconds between breaths. Focusing his peripheral thoughts on the beeping machinery around him, he worked on his plan.

* * *

During the next two weeks, they continued as they had. Practically living together didn't lessen any feelings that were there. Near the end of their third week of cohabitation, Cuddy raised a few concerns about the possible onset of methadone overdose. Methadone overdose was less dramatic than most opiates, because usually it would happen gradually as too much of the drug built up in the body. His oxygen saturation was declining and he seemed a bit sleepier, and when she asked him to consider having the dosage lowered, he agreed to try it.

She set her alarm for every thirty minutes, much more frequently than normal, but until they lowered his dose, she didn't want to take any chances. She slept lightly, and was woken by the panicked sounding of an alarm. Adrenaline surged through her body as she responded. His oxygen saturation was very low, and his heartbeat erratic and slow. She tried to wake him, but he didn't open his eyes. As she called his name and shook him, there was still no response, and she could hear the panic in her own voice. Reaching over to the side table, she grabbed a syringe full of Narcan that she had kept hidden from him to counteract an overdose. Even though her body was on medical autopilot, she could disconnectedly hear herself speak. Her voice was cracking, and there were tears forming along the rims of her eyelids. "I'm not letting you go that easily," she said as she continued to work. As she popped the lid off the needle with her teeth, she said, sadly, "I need you here with me."

Her fingers fumbled for his pulse just to be sure the equipment wasn't malfunctioning before giving him the powerful shot. She felt confused when she found a perfectly rhythmic thump in his neck and it felt like he was still breathing normally. She reasoned that, if he were okay, he would have woken up from the noise, so something was clearly wrong. Leaning past him to turn on a brighter light, she kept her fingers at his pulse point, and when the light came on, she saw his fingers and lips weren't bluish from oxygen deprivation. His hand moved slightly, taking the syringe as he popped open one eye and said, "So I have to almost die to get you to admit that you need me to stay?" It wasn't quite the confession that he'd hoped for, but it was enough.

She glanced at the display nearby and he smiled, sitting up slightly and reaching behind the display to remove something. The moment he removed it, the cacophony ended and the steady sounds she was used to returned.

"What did you do?" she asked, initially more shocked than angry.

"This is a training module you can plug in and use for students. It simulates a crash. Cool, huh?"

"Not cool," she shook her head. "Not cool in any way. That was…a practical joke? A prank to see if I still know how to handle an emergency? Please explain to me in as few words as possible how this is supposed to be funny."

"It wasn't supposed to be funny. I wanted to see how you'd react," he answered simply.

"I'm not a guinea pig," she argued as she slid away until her feet were on the floor.

"I needed an honest, spur of the moment reaction."

"You thought I'd let you die?" she practically screamed.

"No. But the truth came out. I mean a lot more to you than you're willing to admit. I could hear it in your voice…so fess up."

She covered her face behind her hands as she shook her head, "That was cruel. Next time you want to know something, just ask."

"I've _tried_ asking. I've gotten a lot of great reactions. Strip teases, blow jobs, you bent over your desk, and, believe me, I cherish all of those things…but I don't ever get answers."

Walking angrily over to the chair near the bed, she said as she pointed to the display, "Is that working correctly now?"

"Yea. It's fine."

"Get some rest. I don't feel like talking."

"Get over here," he complained.

"I can't simply calm down after that like nothing happened. I was worried you were dying. That's not just a funny-House-prank to me. You screwed with my head just to get answers, fucked with my emotions. I'm gonna read. I can see you just fine from here. Go back to sleep."

"You're upset because I proved that you feel something for me."

"I've already admitted that. I don't know what else you expect from me. Just…go to sleep, House."

* * *

She waited for him in the morning, giving him a ride to work because she was still worried about his condition. His oxygen levels weren't terrible, but they were lower than normal. Overdose was still a real possibility. The ride was largely silent. He was surprised that she'd waited for him at all.

Later that morning, House watched Cuddy talk to Cameron as he waited across the ER. It was hard to tell what Cuddy was saying, but he was pretty sure he could make out the words "I'm sorry" as they came from Cuddy's lips. For a second, he wondered if they had been discussing him, but Cuddy put a hand on Cameron's arm in a reassuring way and it looked like, whatever was being said, Cuddy was pleased with Cameron. He walked closer, carrying a cane in case his leg muscle grew tired, but he wasn't leaning on it nearly as much. He could see Cuddy's demeanor change as he came closer. Cuddy clearly said, "Nice work," to Cameron before she stepped away, nodding wordlessly at House as she continued on with her day.

"What did you do?" House asked Cameron as he leaned his back against the counter next to her.

"What did _you_ do?" Cameron countered, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't," Cameron wryly answered, "because clearly Cuddy isn't _really_ upset with you."

"Some people don't like to have their skills assessed." Cameron, mouth agape, quickly turned her head toward him with a look of horror, so he explained, "Medical skills."

Turning back to her work, she replied, softly, "I probably don't want to know."

"Why did she apologize to you?"

Cameron, with an open and honest look on her face, said, "She apologized for stealing you away from me." It was obvious from his expression that he didn't believe her. After a second, Cameron dramatically rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Is that what you wanted to hear? It wasn't nearly that interesting."

"Try me."

"She recently cut hours down here on the nightshift. I've had to come in almost every night for the last month because we're short-staffed. She came to tell me that she likes how I'm running the ER, and gave me back the two staff members she cut since they're obviously needed. I know it's weird, but we were talking about hospital business…here…at the hospital."

"She apologized for cutting your staff," he disappointedly admitted, frowning.

"Yes. What were you hoping for?"

"I wasn't _hoping_ for anything," he answered. Cameron's lips formed an unavoidable smile as she nodded her head and he argued, "What?"

"I can't imagine why there'd be any trouble in dysfunctional paradise."

"What makes you think Cuddy and I have a paradise at all, dysfunctional or otherwise?"

Cameron's eyes widened as she smirked, "You've come in here with her almost every morning for the last three weeks. The fact that—you know what? I don't want to get involved, so whatever answers you're looking for, I don't have them."

"Jealous?"

"I am not. I'm engaged, happily, I might add, to a man who wants a relationship with me. I'm not trying to hide the fact that I'm with someone because I'm too embarrassed to admit that—"

"I'm not embarrassed," he interrupted.

Cameron stepped up, prepared to dish out the truth as she saw it as directly as House had done to her a hundred times. "You want to know what I think? I saw that little interaction between the two of you just now. She didn't yell or boss you around or stomp away on her heels. She's not angry, she's hurt, which is completely different. Women like Cuddy don't get that hurt about work, they get that hurt about things that are personal. About people who matter. She has feelings for you. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Just because she has feelings doesn't mean that we're—"

"Like I've said, you've come in here with her almost every day. You two had a meeting in HR the first day you drove in together, and you almost always come out of those meetings griping about whatever complaint has been filed, but you didn't say anything. You frequently joke about something going on between you and Cuddy, probably trying to hide the truth by being open about it. The two of you were sneaking around for months before that."

"Are you stalking me?"

"You've trained your current and former teams to miss nothing. And we're all over this hospital. Tell me it isn't true?" Cameron challenged.

"Or _maybe_ we're messing with all of you."

Her one eyebrow shot up with disbelief before she shook her head, grabbed her files and began to walk away, answering, "I don't have proof of anything. What I know is… you think she might have feelings for you or we wouldn't be having this conversation, but nothing I can tell you or you can deduce will give you any definitive answers. I know you, and not knowing the answer to any question will drive you crazy. Sometimes it's better to do whatever you need to do to find the truth. If it doesn't work out, you can lick your wounds and get on with your life. It's better than dragging it out. Trust me." Her tone was momentarily somber before she pressed her lips into a straight, serious line and nodded.

"Maybe you're a saboteur who's planning on leaving Chase and begging me to run away with you?" he half-teased.

"Not a chance," she replied. Before she disappeared into the room with the patient, she said, sincerely, "Some answers can't be found by running tests."

"They can if you run the right tests."

"But some tests destroy the sample." She looked at his miserable expression and questioned, "How are those tests working out for you so far?"

* * *

Cuddy stepped into his office shortly after lunch, with her fingers worriedly entwined. He had no idea what to expect. Perhaps the test that he'd run on her the night before had inadvertently become a test of him.

"Are you riding home with me?" she asked.

He stood determinedly, walking over to her like it was his mission. "I need to say something."

"It was a reasonable reaction on my part," she started to argue right away, expecting him to try to further justify what he'd done.

"I know it was," he admitted. "I wanted answers you wouldn't give, but my methods weren't the best."

"Is that an apology?"

He tilted his head back and forth and replied, "More like a confession."

"Thank you."

"Sure. Now, in return, I need something from you."

"You want me to pay for your apolog—for your confession? There's a catch?"

"I need you to take off tomorrow. All day. And give me off too."

"That's two things."

"I'm not done. I have something I need to do tomorrow afternoon, and I want you to come with me. It'll only take a couple of hours, but I need you to agree, no questions asked."

She folded her arms and shook her head, "Why would I agree to that? I'll find myself running naked through the hospital or hosting an orgy for—"

"We won't be anywhere near the hospital."

"But the orgy's on the table?"

"The nature of our activities is not specifically sexual. If things should turn sexual…it's probably your fault anyway," he replied.

"Can you give me a hint?"

"I have to do one thing, an errand for my mom. The rest will be sort of like restitution for last night," he said.

"Is she gonna be there? I'm not prepared to try to explain thi—"

"She won't be there. Now stop asking questions. Come on. Trust me."

"You do realize that you're the same man who practically broke down my door to tell me that I wasn't safe with him and would _never_ be safe with him…so the same man I'm not safe with wants me to trust him?"

"It's a fine line, but I walk it well." Watching her hesitate like a woman prepared to make a major decision, he finally stated, "You asked me to trust you with that meditation-yoga crap, and with my life since I started methadone, but you can't trust me for a few hours? I need you to do this. Think of it as your chance to test me. If I blow it, you can write me off forever."

"I can't take a day off last minute like that."

"Yes, you can."

She turned away slightly but her eyes stayed on him, "Alright. Are you riding home with me tonight?"

"As soon as you approve our day off."

As they went to the garage that night, he felt the dread and impatience of knowing that it was time to correct her flawed belief that a life full of the things she wanted was out of her reach. It was time to face what he had known for months, Cuddy needed to see reality again. He knew he'd grown complacent, they both had, avoiding facts, evidence and realities in favor of keeping a non-relationship that was the closest they'd probably ever come to a real relationship with each other. But the truth was clear, if Cuddy squandered years with him, and later realized that her brass ring had been within her reach, she would resent him. Tests had been run and data gathered. The truth had been set in his head like an imprint left in cement that was fully dry. He knew how he felt. He couldn't ignore it or change it anymore. He was almost certain that Cuddy loved him as well. Her concern for him, the look in her eyes, the pain that she'd felt at the thought of losing him, all added up to love. Any satisfaction that could have come from believing he'd proven that was dampened by his belief that she'd built all of these feelings on a lie.

She'd decided months ago that she was abnormal, doomed to life without love and family. It was only after she'd committed to abnormalcy that she'd allowed a pseudo-relationship between them to develop. If she was only with him because he was the best option under the circumstances created by her denial, it was shaky ground to stand on. If he was going to expect some answers from her, she deserved to see the truth. He was an all or nothing guy, and it was time to find out if he could have all or nothing.


	5. Normal

A/N-Thanks to everyone who read, and thanks to last chapter's reviewers: LoveMyHouse, freeasabird14, grouchysnarky, housebound, newsession, OldSFfan, JLCH, MWoods78, Abby, marianamd, HuddyGirl, jaybe61, Huddyphoric, ikissedtheLaurie, dmarchl21, Sheis1963, Little Greg, lenasti16, Bere, bladesmum, maya295, Tori, Devon and the Guests.

* * *

**-Normal-**

When Cuddy woke up the next morning, House was lying on his side next to her with his hand resting low on her chest. "What are you doing?" she sleepily asked.

"Waiting," he answered.

This was the kind of moment they'd missed out on during the previous months, moments of awe typically shared by new couples who could get lost just looking at each other. She smiled at him, feeling some of the same things he'd been keeping inside, and, in an unthinking moment, reached up and held his face in her hand. His eyes closed slowly as he soaked in the emotion between them. When he opened his eyes again, she lifted her head and softly kissed him. "House…," she began, regret obvious in her tone, "I know I've been—"

"Tonight," he interrupted, with just as much regret. He wondered if she'd ever look at him that way again after she knew she wasn't as abnormal as she thought. He continued, "We can talk about it tonight. We have to go."

When they were ready, House went to his hall closet and grabbed two helmets. "No. I'll drive," Cuddy said, shaking her head.

"Why?"

"Methadone, overdose, being dragged across the pavement going sixty miles an hour, death…all really great reasons to let me drive."

"You rode with me when I was on Vicodin…_lots _of Vicodin, and you were fine. My levels looked better this morning anyway. They're not going to get bad fast enough for me to overdose today. Tomorrow, maybe, but not today."

"That's nothing to joke about."

"But it's true."

"Maybe the near-experience of you going into respiratory arrest the other night is still fresh in my mind."

"You're safer now than you were before. It's been too long. I need this. It's only an hour away," he argued, walking closer and sliding the helmet over her head. Once it was on, he thumped his open hand on the top and asked, "You okay in there?" She started to talk, her voice too muffled to understand, so he added, "I can't hear you. You should wear one of these at work," before he grinned evilly and walked away.

* * *

They arrived in the town of Red Bank a little over an hour later. It was a beautiful summer morning, and a day that seemed full of possibility. Of course the Marine training facility they eventually rode onto wasn't exactly what Cuddy had been hoping for. They pulled up to the gate and House removed his helmet, asking Cuddy to give him the backpack that she'd carried on her back for the ride.

There were two guards staring them down suspiciously as House pulled his wallet from the backpack and took out their IDs, giving Cuddy hers. He held his hand out over his shoulder, as he always did when it was time for her to get off his bike, so she could balance. The guards searched their backpack and asked a few questions as they briefly checked the pair for weapons before they were allowed to enter the facility. Once they were back on his bike and riding in, Cuddy yelled through her helmet, "What in the hell are we doing here?"

They parked in front of an official looking building, and, after Cuddy dismounted a second time, he explained, "This is the errand for Mom. The man who runs this facility, Burke, considered himself one of Dad's _friends_. He has some things he wants Mom to have, but he didn't want to mail them."

"What sort of things?"

House shrugged like he didn't know or care about the items at all. "Mom wants it. She doesn't ask for much."

He took his cane from his bike and began walking slowly up the steps. She began to follow, but when he reached the top of the stairs, he made a face of hesitation. "You're coming in?" he asked.

"What else would you like me to do?" she whispered, looking at the very unfamiliar territory around her where she didn't particularly want to be left behind.

He whispered back, "I'm not exactly popular with this group. I was never really a favorite, but since Dad's funeral—"

"People you've pissed off aren't exactly hard to come by."

He couldn't argue with that, so he held open the door and gestured for her to go through. Guards directed them to the appropriate office. As soon as House gave his name, Burke, a sour and obviously high ranking man, emerged from an office behind the counter. He was growling, although no noise actually came from the man. He stared at House with a scowl that was supposed to make the recipient cower, but House was obviously bored by the attempt to intimidate. "You have stuff for my mother?" House asked without any introduction.

The Marine looked over at Cuddy, making some evaluation with results that were unclear. "Ma'am," Burke formally greeted her, "kindly take a seat for a moment."

House quietly told her, "Be back in a sec," somewhat amused by the expression of concern on her face.

Cuddy could see them through the door. The men weren't loud, but the disdain the Marine had for House was obvious. The more Burke tried to express his disdain, the more House seemed deeply disinterested by whatever was being said. Burke handed House a box and House paused only briefly to pick up Cuddy before he was out the door.

He managed with the box most of the way, but when they reached the stairs, she took it from him with opportunistic glint in her eye. She hurried down the steps to a cement ledge, trying to block him from the box with her body. He looked on with amusement because he wasn't interested in trying to hide it from her. She held up a photo album like she'd unearthed a great lost treasure and gloated, "Ha."

He shook his head, "Be my guest."

Opening it, she paged through several sheets of the book and confoundedly said, "You're not even in here."

"I didn't expect to be," he said as he came over and stood next to her so he could see. "This is all Marine stuff. Mom kept the family ones."

"Oh," she disappointedly answered.

"I didn't realize you wanted to see any."

"Why wouldn't I?" she asked, offended.

"You're wrong," he abruptly said, pointing to one of the pictures. "That's me."

She squinted, studying the image of a kid sitting in the background, sulking. "My god, you've been making that expression for a long time," she observed amusedly. She started digging through to box, finding awards and commendations, and a few other official pictures, but nothing else that would tell her anything about House. "Was he a good father?" she asked as she placed the items back in the box.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Curiosity. I would have expected to see more evidence of you in here than a blurry spot at the back of a photograph."

"Is that the benchmark for determining good parenting? Pictures?" he asked.

"No. Which is why I asked you if he was a good father and didn't come to any conclusions."

House lifted the box and walked over to his bike. He started removing items and shoving some of them in the backpack. "Depends on your definition. By the standards of most of our ancestors, he was wildly successful. I survived infancy without being carried off by a saber tooth tiger, I didn't die from plague, famine or war. He provided enough shelter and sustenance so I could live to adulthood and enough education for me to survive on my own." He looked at her animatedly and declared, "Success!"

"I should have had those sentiments embroidered on my niece's baby blanket."

"It's true. Our basic function as humans is to live long enough to procreate and make sure our offspring live long enough to do the same. You try to have enough kids so at least a few survive, hopefully not too many to feed. Standards have changed. Even our grandparents were more focused on survival than worrying about their kids' self-esteem or having the perfect home in the suburbs where they could go to pretentious schools and learn to paint with brushes made from the finest wildebeest hair. Really, there are plenty of places where it's still about finding bread and a roof while avoiding an early death."

"Wildebeest hair?"

"Right. All the snottiest schools use it."

She scoffed as she watched him strap the now burgeoning backpack to the back of the bike. "You should start your own school," she suggested.

"I'm starting a whole parenting product line. Books, a school…," he started. She chimed in, and they said at the same time, "Paint brushes." She actually laughed loudly enough to hear.

He hopped on his bike and turned to evaluate the amount of space left for her between his body and the backpack. "Can you fit your gigantic ass in that little space?" he asked.

She was already looking past him at a large gathering of people, and asked, "Is that a parade?"

He shrugged and got off his bike, gesturing for her to come along to explore.

The walk was longer than it looked, a narrow sidewalk and series of steps down a hill. House walked in the grass to avoid the steps and Cuddy asked, "What's going on with your leg?"

"Less methadone, more pain."

"I'm sorry," she answered, sounding defeated.

He stopped walking, leaning more on his cane than she'd seen in weeks, and she came back to see if he needed help. She took his arm to assist and he pulled it away, "You _should_ be sorry. How dare you insist on something as trivial as _breathing_," he said with fake anger. Looking down at the ground, he added, "We had to lower the dosage so I can breathe and manage my pain at the same time. That's not your fault. It was good medical advice."

"We could try to increase the dosage a little tomorrow," she said, guiltily.

"Stop sounding like you ran over my puppy on my birthday. It's just sore. I can deal with it."

They started to walk and he could feel her disappointment as they arrived at the long chain link fence that separated them from the gathering on the other side. Once they were there, it was easy to see what was happening. The gathering of people who looked like attendees at a parade from afar with their signs and flags were actually all there to wish well to those who were being deployed. It was hard to watch and hard to turn away from at the same time. People of all ages stood, waving goodbye to those they loved. Some wore stoic expressions, trying to appear strong for those who were leaving. Some couldn't hide the fear that the worse might happen, and the person they loved may never come home. Some prayed from the depths of their souls. After the bus left, even the stoic faces showed signs of emotion.

Cuddy slowly turned away from the scene toward House, and she said, "That's gotta be so hard to do."

"Some people will do that tons of times. For some of them, so often it's almost normal. Not easy, but normal. But if all goes well, there's the flipside."

"What do you mean?"

"You should see this crowd in a few months when the people who just left come home. It's—"

"You're not permitted to be here," a voice interrupted. Behind them stood two MPs, glowering a warning. "What's your business here?"

"I had a meeting with Burke," House replied.

"He's meeting you by the fence?" the MP asked snidely.

"I already met him, in his office," House answered with irritation.

"You're trespassing on Federal property."

"We came over here after the meeting," Cuddy tried to explain calmly.

"I'll need to see your IDs," the MP argued.

House took them out of his wallet handed and them over, arguing, "You think we broke in here to watch a deployment? You think that's our nefarious plan?"

"You have two minutes to vacate the property," the MP said as he handed the IDs back. "Without any comments. If you have anything else to say, we can detain you so you can properly discuss your thoughts with my superior officer."

Cuddy looked at House with wide eyes and whispered, "Being arrested by the military is not on my bucket list."

They started to walk back to the bike, moving as quickly as they could. The MPs followed a few steps behind, watching every move the pair made. When they were halfway back up the hill, House said, "It wasn't about the touching."

"What?" she asked.

"On the way down the hill. I didn't pull away because you touched me. I pulled away because I didn't need help."

"Yea. That would be so horrible if I wanted to help you with something," she dryly answered. She slipped her hand down over his as they continued, watching his reaction. He knew she was waiting for him to pull away, proving that it was about her touch, but he tightened his fingers around hers and kept walking.

They were making awkward progress, and it made him second guess his decision to point out reality to her. Part of him thought that maybe he should just keep whatever she wanted to give for as long as she wanted to give it, but he knew he couldn't continue this on such shaky ground. It had been gnawing at him. It wasn't until they were being followed by some very judgmental and rigid MPs that it felt like they were on a date. Once they were back at the bike, they put on their helmets and got situated. He could feel Cuddy relaxing as they pulled away without being arrested and rode into town.

He took her to a Vietnamese restaurant there. Although the décor was plain, the aromas that filled the room were ample evidence of why he'd chosen that place. When the waitress came, offering House a huge grin and a warm greeting, she took their order.

"You've been here before?" Cuddy asked.

"It's the best Vietnamese food in Jersey," he replied as he twisted his straw wrapper into rope.

"How did you even find it?"

"I stayed here as a kid for a few weeks while Dad was being transferred between bases," he replied, occasionally looking behind her at something that caught his attention.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Cuddy turned around and saw a back room where a girl in her early teens was watching two younger siblings who played on the floor with toy bulldozers and blocks. It looked out of place in a restaurant, like a room from a daycare had been miniaturized and transported to that spot. There really wasn't anything else remarkable about the scene. The children seemed happy enough as they played, but she started to wonder why he kept looking at them.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head and answered, "Movement keeps catching my eye."

"Oh," she answered. "And this restaurant was here since you were a kid?"

"No. I remembered the town, drove through one day about seven years ago and stopped here."

"So this is what the mysterious Gregory House does with his time off?"

"Some days. Not as often since I've had you to do."

* * *

After lunch they left the restaurant and started to walk down the sidewalk. "So this is not exactly a spa weekend…," he started.

"A spa weekend?" she asked.

"Crowne Plaza, Women's Spa weekend, your original offer for hotel sex? Any of this ringing a bell?"

"I remember. When you invaded my home like a Neanderthal and made it clear that you're not one of my girl friends and I'll never, ever be safe with you. And then I _meditated_ you. How could I forget?" she said as she looked him over and flashed a knowingly lascivious grin.

He grinned a little himself, always looking so uncomfortable about smiling, before he regained control of his expression and said, "Well, this is still _not_ a spa weekend," he gestured into a small salon, "but at least it's something."

"You're going to get a manicure with me?"

"No. But I'm going to eat my dessert while you do pampering stuff."

* * *

It had been such a long day, beautiful in so many ways, enlightening in others. As they got on his bike when it was time to go home, she asked, "Is this what it's like to date you, House?"

Holding his helmet between his hands as he listened, he could see, feel and hear the fact that within her question, she was telling him that she'd had a good time. He wanted to keep this town and day a nice memory though, so it wasn't time to have the discussion that he knew they'd both be hesitant to have. "I don't know. I've never dated me," he answered pensively as he put on his helmet.

The first few minutes of the ride were fine, great even, as the sticky summer air felt cooler because the wind slipped over their bodies. As they often do in the summer, a storm came up quickly. The slightly less bright sky became slate grey within a few minutes, and lightening filled the shapes of the clouds. It seemed only seconds later that fat drops of rain started to splatter on his helmet visor, but it was the hail that started to ping onto the road that made continuing too risky. As soon as he found an underpass, he pulled his bike safely under its shelter to wait out the storm.

He watched as Cuddy hopped and shivered slightly because her already dampened clothes made her feel chillier. She hurriedly checked his backpack to make sure that his father's contents weren't too wet, but he dismissed her concerns as he leaned against his bike and waited. Rain poured over the sides of the bridge above them like curtains and echoed through their temporary shelter.

As much as he wasn't ready for it, this was the time. Cuddy couldn't leave him before the conversation was done, and he thought it was unlikely that she'd try to distract him with sex in such an open place. Even if she called a taxi, it would take a long time to reach their location. There was a diner or shop on the horizon, but certainly a good distance to walk in the hail, and he guessed that she wouldn't leave him there to fend for himself. "I don't know if there is a normal anymore," he stated suddenly.

She turned, taken aback by his statement. "Normal…what?"

"Life," he answered, watching her come closer to stand almost over his feet as he sat against his bike.

"Thunderstorms making you feel philosophical?" she questioned, still happy enough from her day even when trapped in a storm.

"Remembering, I guess. Dad and his life. Me and mine. That bus of people who shipped out today. Their families who have to stay at home and hope for the best. Then you have those kids in the back of a restaurant who probably spend more time there than at home while their parents work all day every day to keep their business going. That's hardly what most people consider ideal, but those kids don't know the difference. They actually seemed happier than a lot of people."

Cuddy nodded her head, trying to figure out where he was going with this particular string of observations. Initially she thought House was about to tell her the secrets of his childhood. She was truly interested in whatever he was going to say and sort of excited that he would trust her with that information. When he stalled, she encouraged, "Go ahead."

He had a few more seconds to avoid this conversation, but it felt like he had no choice. "You think that you're so abnormal…that we both are…and I'm not sure what to compare it to. I don't know what normal really is, and—"

She laughed loudly, shaking her head as she took a defensive step away from him, "You really are something, House. You act like you see everyone so clearly, all of their motivations and everything that makes them tick, and you're so painfully clueless about yourself."

"Me?" he asked as the situation turned even more drastically than he had expected.

"You act so fearless, but when it comes down to real feelings, you're a coward."

"_I'm_ a coward? You're the one running away from what you want because you got hurt, so you're distracting yourself with a half-relationship that you wouldn't be part of for any other reason. I'm nothing more than a place to hide from babies and heartbreak, or, maybe worse, a placeholder until you find something better. I guess it's safer though, because in the long run, if you don't have those things, you can blame me."

"I didn't realize this trip was a set up. You were trying to make a point? The whole day was about you trying to get me to walk away from our arrangement? The visit to the military base, you probably read about the deployment, you've seen the kids in the restaurant before…I don't know how the spa fit in."

"It didn't."

"Then why did we go there?"

"Because I wanted to."

"A fitting bookend to the original spa misunderstanding," she bitterly observed.

"You can't walk around with blinders on. You're too smart for that," he answered.

"All you needed to say was one word," she angrily answered as she took his phone from his pocket, "and you couldn't even do that." She entered his password, because she'd memorized his too, and she started to tap on the screen. More calmly, she continued, "If you wanted to stop fucking me, all you had to do was say so. I didn't need this whole elaborate setup. I made this so easy for you. One text and you could have walked away. Here," she said as she held out his phone, "all you have to do is hit send. Or maybe that's too much to expect."

He looked down at his phone and saw that she'd started a text. She was the recipient and all it said was _DONE._

He could see in the way that she walked the sadness and frustration that she was trying to hide, acting like it was so simple and meaningless. She moved to the edge of the underpass, just inches away from the pouring water. Hail clapped on the ground and splashed the standing water into the air, creating chaos just above the pavement. Her phone finally beeped. She couldn't hear it, but she could feel it in her pocket. Turning back to where he sat, she walked slowly over and nodded, "Thank you."

He stared, noting the too confident posture she held to overcompensate for how she really felt, and he waited for her to check her phone.

"I'll wait here with you until the storm's over. Then I'll call for a ride," she explained.

Reaching around her back, he grabbed her phone from her jeans' pocket and handed it to her. She seemed to think this was part of the game, so she opened the text message and braced herself for something horrible, but the text said, _DONE with knowing what I'm NOT._

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"All you'll tell me is what I'm not. Not just a friend, not a boyfriend…_nots_. I don't _want_ this to be so insignificant that we can send a one word text and walk away like the last few months never happened."

"Isn't that why you agreed to do this in the first place? No obligations, no strings, no commitment."

He shook his head as he hung his helmet on the handlebars, but gave no further answer.

"Then why did you agree to it?" she pushed.

"Because I thought something was better than nothing."

"Wasn't it?"

He shook his head, flicking one of the chin straps that dangled from his helmet to avoid looking at her. He finally answered, "Sometimes a taste of what you want only reminds you that you're hungry."

"If you feel that way, why do you want me to walk away?"

"I'm not your placeholder or your excuse. I want you to have what you want. I want you to be happy. You're not that abnormal."

"Do you really think I don't know that?" She was obviously touched, but he could barely look at her because it hurt so much. She explained, "The adoption agency just called a few weeks ago. If that's what I wanted, I could have moved forward. At least one member of my family is always trying to set me up on a blind date. How many have I met? How many have I called?"

"Why?" he pressed.

"Why do you think?"

"I want you to tell me."

"Because I like what I have with you. I like _you_." It sounded angrier than such a confession usually would, but she could feel the pressure of House searching for answers.

"You like it, but you want an easy out? You want to make sure that with one single-word text you can make it all go away?"

"I thought you liked the easy out," she argued. "And since things weren't broken, I didn't want to change it. It was working…_we_ were working."

"So what am I?"

"You're… not—"

"No," he argued firmly, "you can't use that word. Don't tell me what I'm _not_. Tell me what I _am_."

"You're…the man in my life. You've been the only man in my life for months. I don't know what you want me to say."

"That's what I've been. What do you want me to be?"

"See…," she started, shaking her head, "this is the problem. You think you've tried to have a conversation about this with me…but you haven't. You try to push for answers while you sit back and don't say anything. That's not a conversation, it's an interrogation."

"I told you that having a little of you wasn't enough. I told you that I didn't want to be a stand-in until you find something better. I told you I want you to be happy."

"You're giving me evidence and wanting me to draw a conclusion…I don't want to have to come to a conclusion. I want to know, from you, so there's no room for misinterpretation."

"I didn't give you evidence. I gave you proof. There's a difference."

"You want a relationship?"

"Yes," he answered immediately.

"With me?"

"Yea," he answered like the question was stupid.

"I want that, too," she replied.

"That still doesn't fix the problem. You're just giving up on a family like it suddenly doesn't matter?"

"Oh, god, don't worry about that. I quit taking the pill two months ago," she teased. He tilted his head and looked at her with one of the blankest expressions she'd ever seen on his face. "That _was_ a joke," she assured. "I would never deceive you like that."

"Or you were testing my reaction while avoiding the question," he hypothesized.

"_Or…_I was joking."

"Not that I'd ever run tests to try to get someone's unfiltered reaction…," he baited. She didn't answer, so he asked more seriously, "You still didn't answer my question. You're just forgetting about all of that? All of that stuff you wanted so badly a few months ago?"

She fidgeted a little as she thought, and then looked up guardedly, "If a person is in a relationship, decisions about things like that can't just be made by that individual…those decisions are made by couples. And we'll probably need to figure out how to have discussions about important things without schemes and tests."

"Then we're going to fail. I don't think I can give up scheming and testing."

"Are you willing to try to merge scheming and testing with actual conversation?"

He nodded after a moment and said, "I could try. But you're going to have to show up for those conversations too. And have them…with me."

"I know that. Why don't we try out this relationship for a while? If we can't figure it out…," she began, letting her words hang in the air.

Exchanging slightly worried looks about a future that had more possibility, but also greater potential for catastrophe, they knew that neither of them could retreat and pretend it was meaningless anymore. There was no going back, and that made it more beautiful and more dangerous. Self-protection would have to be sacrificed to make progress. He could see her actively gathering courage, and she said, "Let's not damn this before we even try. Is it really that much different than what we've had for the last few months?"

It was different. It was _worlds_ different, a fact that both knew but neither said. They leaned toward each other as the potential of the moment, even of the future, created a gravity between them that they had to obey. Their lips began to affectionately graze as they reached for each other and then the sound of a car's tires splitting the water that pooled on the road behind them served as interruption. After the car had passed them, Cuddy didn't pull away, but slipped next to him, fitting against his side so he had no choice but to keep his arm around her as his hand rested on her hip.

Their confessions had been heard and the agreement between them had gone from an arrangement to a relationship, but they were stuck in limbo as they waited for the storm to pass. They'd both considered it, finding a slightly secluded space so they could seal their commitment in more familiar ways. The slope behind the underpass was too steep and muddy, and even if they could navigate the terrain, they'd be pelted with rain and hail. There were too many cars going by, and his motorcycle didn't really offer any cover, so they waited, leaning against his bike and each other as they waited for clearer skies. They scarcely spoke, in some way grateful to have time to recover from the craziness of moments ago. It felt good to be there, together, with nowhere to run and nothing to say.

When the storm had moved on and the hot sun heated the moisture on the road into rising steam, they climbed back on his bike and continued their journey. They stopped at the next coffee shop. The moment he realized no one was waiting behind the counter, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back toward the bathrooms. As soon as they were inside, he locked the door and she was against him. She was so wonderfully passionate it felt forceful, her mouth finding his, her hands seeking skin, her leg curling behind his calf. He could feel how much she wanted him in each of her breaths and touches and sounds.

The future was uncertain and tenuous, but at least there was the possibility of one. This relationship between them, whatever it might become, was certainly real. There were no blinders or arrangements, no pretenses of meaninglessness, and he reveled in the feeling of labeled-nothingness becoming open-somethingness.

She was, in so many ways, completely familiar. He already knew the shape of the breast in his palm and the feeling of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He already knew how she would taste. He knew the exact angle at which their bodies would join and how it would feel when her fingers would dig into him when she came in a surge of surrendering heat. Physically nothing was different. He wasn't even inside her yet and he already knew that. They knew sex together, understood the other's body, and had already discovered hidden likes and dislikes.

Just as their bodies were aligned, that second before he was ready to move inside her for what seemed like the thousandth time, he paused. It was the look she gave him that made him stall, a look that was as sexy and seductive as it was beautiful and warm. Things had changed, things that could have been lost in a sea of familiarity, and the woman balanced precariously on the edge of the sink, staring anticipatorily into his eyes, would be his even when they weren't fucking.

He was, oddly enough, somehow freer with this commitment than he had been without it. "Love you," he said with remarkably honest calm given the tension of the moment, allowing the words to arise but never making a conscious decision to speak them. He simply wasn't guarded enough to continue to choke down the sentiment. In articulating the words, there was unexpected liberation.

Before the shock even had time to become an expression on her face, he thrust into her, hearing the sharp gasp of her sudden pleasure. He couldn't allow her to simply parrot a required response, after all, an obligatory or uncertain reciprocation of love would be worse than no answer at all. He silenced her with kisses, with whispered shushes and diversion. As imperfect as it may have seemed, there was no better time or place in the world for him to make such a confession.

They didn't have long together, a fact that they were reminded of when someone dropped a mop in the hallway outside of the bathroom and startled them. There was no time to waste as they fucked each other senseless, both hoping to finish before someone started banging on the door to demand entry. They couldn't stop. The hurried pace and thrill at the threat of discovery overlaid the day's emotion and honesty, and it seemed everything felt so much more amazing. He could feel the way she came in his spine, and that electric warmth spread through every nerve in his body for a second before his own senses took over, and he could really only experience his own release in all of its unhindered intensity.

He leaned against her and the sink after he came, feeling a shakiness that threatened to unlock his elbows and knees and send him to the floor. She was still trembling against him, too. Of course it was the sex that made them feel so unsteady, they didn't have to speak to decide that was their excuse. He wanted to collapse into a bed with his girlfriend, to sleep for a few minutes until his strength returned. Almost like she was reading his thoughts, she insisted, "Take me home."

Her words sounded so good, especially when accompanied by that smile, and the excitement of it all, of her and of their new path, gave him some of his energy back. As they left the bathroom afterwards, Cuddy went to the counter and waited in the line that had formed while they were otherwise occupied. "I thought you wanted to go home?" House asked, uncertain as to why they were in line.

"Bathrooms are for patrons only," she read, pointing to a sign.

He whispered, "I'm pretty sure sex in the bathroom is against the rules, with or without purchase. Do you think they're going to chase us down in the parking lot and demand that we get a latte?"

"It's clearly posted," she argued as she gazed ahead.

"Is there a minimum dollar amount you have to spend? If you just needed to pee, I'd think buying a cup of coffee would be enough, but what's the price to rent the room for sex? Do we have to pay per person, or are there different rates for different sex acts?" he kept wondering as he watched her squirm. "Maybe they should post the fees so we know what's actually required."

"Whatever you think is fair," she answered just to silence him. That man could take her from a place of ecstasy to irritation and vice versa with unbelievable speed.

As he stepped up the counter, he announced, "I'll take a dozen bagels, all of those donuts you have left, and a gallon of espresso."

The barista looked at the computer to enter the order and Cuddy held up a hand, "He means two large regular coffees and one donut."

"Is that all I'm worth to you?" House gasped, grinning as he sensed her irritation.

While the staff filled their order, Cuddy stepped back from him and took out her phone. House heard his own phone beep, so he checked it and saw a text from her: _Since you wouldn't let me say it… _

He watched as another text came through from her: _I love you  
_

Staring down at his phone for a moment, he couldn't seem to stop reading the words. The woman behind the counter coughed and said, "Seven-twenty-nine."

House pulled a wrinkled twenty dollar bill from his pocket and handed it over the cash register, glancing at Cuddy with a look of hesitant happiness. By the time he took his change, he seemed to find his footing again, and as soon as he did, he teased, "A date for under ten bucks. We can make this place an anniversary tradition."

House had expected her to put up a fight but she agreed, "Sounds good."

"Be careful what you agree to… because I_ will_ remember," he warned as they walked out of the store.

"The best part of the date was free," she answered. When she saw his salacious grin, she clarified, "I meant waiting out the storm together from under the bridge."

He huffed loudly, "_Suuuuuure_ you did."


End file.
